


Our Future

by ramenwriter (WritingEngine)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adulthood, Angst, Arguing, Best Friends, Developing Friendships, Dream Smp, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Dynamics, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I am really hyped to write this tbh, M/M, Mentioned Arran | JustVurb, Mentioned F1NN5TER, Mentioned George | Spifey, Minecraft, Multi, Other, Platonic Relationships, Play Fighting, Separations, Strained Friendships, YouTube, good luck, they do be grown tho, this is gonna be fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEngine/pseuds/ramenwriter
Summary: MAJOR MAJOR CREDITS TO THE LOVELY >> alysathewannabemcyt << on TikTok for this story concept!I have tweaked bits to fit my writing style, however the general concept will be hella inspired by theirs! So CHECK THEM THE HONK OUT, PALS!It's the year 2030, and the Dream SMP Discord has been quiet since 2025.None of the Dream SMP members have made a single video or have gone live for years.People once considered friends shouldn't be easy to forget, should they?
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs, Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Alexis | Quackity & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 66
Kudos: 149





	1. A New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy thought growing up would suck ass.
> 
> Turns out, it's the lack of communication that scared him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Tommy's POV!  
> 

People often wake up to blinding sunlight with headaches, stomachaches, and all the horribly oozy feelings after spending New Year's Eve smushing faces and drinking out of red solo cups. What once was a rather boring and dull year of 2029, dealing with Twitter fanbases switching obsessions as they usually do and small YouTubers becoming bigger as time passes, moves onto a new year of good old 2030. A year welcoming new and old faces like any other year does. Nothing special about it, really. It's another boring year for everyone, even for the obsessors on the internet looking for some new uploads from their favorite YouTubers.

25-year-old Tommy, going by the nickname stuck with him since his younger days, used to upload around five or so years in his younger days. He started off as a semi-small 16-year-old Twitch streamer, soon participating in wars on a friend's SMP and initiating most if not all playful online banter between friends, and then he somehow came to this point in life as an adult. He always thought he'd stay young, honestly. In the United Kingdom, he had some laws a minor could pass through as though they were an adult, such as getting married. Reading little American comments about it being unfair made him chuckle and grin like a smartass. Like he won some secret V.I.P. pass to be seen as some regular adult in his country.

That obviously wasn't true, but who's to say he can't keep dreaming? Not that he has to dream now. Tommy's finally the adult he joked about already being when he was younger. He passed through college despite having every itching urge to drop out to become a YouTuber. Sure, he uses YouTube as often as any regular person does, but to dedicate his time to being a YouTuber? No way could he commit to doing that. Not like he really has a job at the moment, or even a bit of a hobby to occupy himself.

Maybe he can try the YouTube career again.

It worked out amazingly when he was younger. But he was _a teenager_ , someone _other teenagers_ can relate to. He's pretty certain no one wants to see a 20-something year old filming YouTube videos with literally nothing interesting about him to put out into the online world. What would an adult even film about? Coffee shops? Reenactments of musicals? Swearing at people on the street as a social experiment?

Tommy gives it some thought when he opens the door to his studio. Well, not necessarily _old_ since it's his _only_ studio. Though he hasn't used the room or really stepped into it since.. well, years ago before he stopped streaming and filming altogether. It wasn't like the YouTube career didn't make him happy or satisfied. He was overjoyed knowing thousands and millions of people came to his streams and left comments on his YouTube videos. Absolutely _thrilled_. He doesn't even know _why_ he stopped. He just knows he did.

A little 'ding' rings from his phone, so he pulls it from his hoodie pocket to look at the bright screen.

His white hoodie matches the long snow white pants he learned to love over the past couple of years, liking the soft cotton provide him warmth. The weather's always scorching hot or leaves people with the need to take a sip of water. Without any air conditioners around, cotton cloth or blankets are really all they've got left going for them. Not too hot, of course, but enough to make them comfortable enough to let their sweat get scooped by the soft material. Tommy joked about wearing sweatbands all over for the same effect at some point. And honestly, who can blame him?

**_"Discord 3m ago_ **

**_#general dream: hello?"_ **

Tommy can't think of the last time he used Discord, much less the one apparently labelled "Dream SMP". He's been too busy with socializing with his local barista every time he stops by to try out their new coffee special, despite not being a huge coffee fan. He mostly does it because it's a challenge and who is he to back down from that? Besides, he can't dedicate his life to one whole app. He has to go out and do things by himself and for himself, or else he won't get anywhere. That's what people told him growing up, telling the formerly young child to go out and stop doing YouTube so he can get a "real" job and "a college degree" and "get a family".

He should probably check out the Dream SMP Discord.

Laying down in bed anyway, he has no plans of moving from the comfort of his burrito-wrapped blanket securely tightened around his body. Like a cocoon, except the larvae is a grown adult and the soon-to-be butterfly will undoubtedly still be the same grown adult. So, he swipes at the notification, bringing himself into the Discord where apparently a _lot_ of members reside. Dream SMP members, knowing that makes the most sense, having a very vague memory of some kind of presidential election in a Minecraft server.

Probably not important.

**_tommyinnit: hi_ **

What's this "Dream" person doing online anyway? Funnily enough, they're also the only other person even online in the server aside from Tommy. He guesses it makes sense considering the server has their name..

_Wait a fucking second_.

**_tommyinnit: wait don't say anyhting_ **

He types out quickly, facing the wall as if looking at it makes anything better. And, oddly enough, _it doesn't because it's just a wall_.

**_tommyinnit: dream?_ **

**_dream: yeah?_ **

**_tommyinnit: this is gonna sound weird but bear with me_ **

**_dream: k_ **

Tommy watches his keyboard for some seconds. He knows what he's thinking is right, because how can he be wrong? He knows what he's doing. People don't call him a "social butterfly" for nothing.

_**tommyinnit: youre the green bastard from whatever years ago right?** _

_**tommyinnit: you stole my fucking discs and shit** _

**_tommyinnit: and then there was a whole fuckin WAR_ **

_**tommyinnit: which was pretty badass ngl** _

_**tommyinnit: but how are you still here??** _

He bites the inside of his cheek, hoping he _actually_ knows what he's doing. He can't be wrong, can he? He really doesn't know what to think while he watches the little signal pop up that indicates Dream's typing out a response. He hopes he didn't just fuck up.

_**dream:** _ _**for a child you sure have a good memory** _

_**dream: but yeah you have it right** _

_**dream: wdym why am I still here?** _

_A child?_ Did this person just call him, a literal adult, a _child?_ Oh no no, Tommy is _not_ having any of that.

_**tommyinnit: I AM A GROWN ASS MAN HOW FUCKIN DARE YOU** _

_**tommyinnit: BET YOU ARE THE OLD ONE WITH GREEN WRINKLES AND SHIT** _

_**dream: wait how old are you??** _

Tommy debates whether to tell the truth or not. If he lies, he might be able to get away with it. If he tells the truth, Dream might not let him live it down for sort of being young. At least he isn't a child anymore, and hopefully far from being seen as one.

**_tommyinnit: 26 dipshit_ **

He can't help but snort at his own reply, taking some pride in tiny insults he likes to throw at people. Not to be a dick, of course, but it happens to be a little thing he does around people he's friends with. He guesses Dream used to be close enough friends with him in the past at some point. Probably when they were all on the SMP together.

_**dream: oh** _

_**tommyinnit: how fuckin old are you?** _

He waits for a response and takes this time to sit up. The bed's comfy and all, but he can't stay in it forever. Even if every part of him absolutely _wants_ to fall the fuck asleep, wrap himself up burrito-style in the blanket, and pretend the sun doesn't exist for a couple days. Like sleeping in, but not waking up. He likes sleep.

_**dream: 30** _

_**tommyinnit:** **oh shit youre old** _

_**dream: you are like 5 years from my age tommy** _

_**tommyinnit: 30-5=25 ???** _

Tommy decides he's taking a liking to this Dream fellow. Maybe owning a whole server for himself, and apparently a whole SMP, doesn't automatically make him a shit person. He doesn't mind taking time to get to know people, especially those somehow familiar to him. He had to spend a two-hour phone call with friends after visiting for the New Year celebration to tell them he _does_ remember them and that he _did not_ drink. Even at an age more seen appropriate for someone to drink, alcohol seems weird to just.. consume. He makes alcohol jokes a lot, sure, who doesn't? But he doesn't actually plan on drinking anything stronger than some good ol' Coke.

_**dream: 1 number off whatever** _

_**dream: and I was looking to see if anyones still here** _

_**tommyinnit: why?** _

Maybe not the brightest question he can ask, but he went with it anyway.

_**dream: curious I guess** _

_**dream: do you wanna come on the smp with me?** _

_**dream: unless you have a job now or something** _

A job. Not that Tommy doesn't find himself quite responsible by a fair amount, but he doesn't really have the right mind to get a job. Much less keep one.

_**tommyinnit: sure why not** _

He takes a second to look at the long list of other people in the server, idly waiting under the 'offline' category. He wonders if any of them check in on the Discord or the SMP themselves. He doesn't think so. They all must be grown by now, having their own jobs and lives to get on with past YouTube and gaming. Apparently that's not true for him, someone who still finds time to play Minecraft in his major free time, and Dream, who wants him to hop on the SMP.

Does Dream even have a job? What would he even do? He can code, Tommy remembers that. The guy works on coding and challenges and.. huh. Tommy's not sure how long it's been since he saw a new Dream video on YouTube, much less a stream. Neither of them.. _none_ of the people in the server have uploaded for years. _Actual_ years.

Tommy hopes this doesn't mean it's the end for Minecraft YouTubers. He knows a lot of them played huge roles in not only their fans' lives, but even each others'. They're all a band of streamers, YouTubers, and Dream SMP members. Friends in the form of a large, _large_ family.

_**tommyinnit: my mum sent a picture of our dogs just now, wanna see them?** _

His dogs, Walter and Betty, live with his parents in the home he grew up in. He lives a little far enough for his own space, but close enough to his childhood home to visit his family whenever he's able to. It's not like he has anything to do in the first place, so why not?

He kind of wonders if Dream visits his family, or if he lives with them at all. He's apparently 30 years old, so surely not, right? Or he may not be able to afford rent.

Tommy shakes his head in an effort to quit thinking about responsibilities. He almost misses being a more carefree teenager. Sure, he still had responsibilities like ensuring his audience weren't offended by comments he made or others made. But at least he didn't have to actually act like an adult. The local coffee shop's probably his only gateway to being a childish guy, honestly. The baristas do tease him for mixing some of their names up easily, even going as far to call him "Chommy" as a joke.

He likes being able to be a little carefree with them. They're as close as friends as he's got right now.

_**dream: sure!** _

An enthusiastic reply. Okay, Dream.

After digging through his notifications, which decide on piling up because of his parents texting to ensure he's fine, he finally finds the recent picture. Walter's wearing a shirt while sitting in Tommy's teenager room, and Betty's tail is mid-wag as she tries to raise her paw at the camera. Tommy takes it as a wave before raising his hand to 'wave' back at the still image.

Then, he hits 'send' and waits for the other man's response.

_**dream: they look bigger now holy shit!** _

_**tommyinnit: the bigger the better** _

_**tommyinnit: hows patches?** _

He can't tell if he's surprised or not that Dream quickly sends a picture of Patches, his cat, wearing what Tommy can only deem as a green hoodie.

He almost feels sorry that she has to wear something in green.

_**tommyinnit: how old is she?? she looks ancient!!!** _

Two can play the enthusiasm game, Dream.

_**dream: 138 years old :)** _

One of the players of this game has a small brain, and Tommy's starting to realize which one.

_**tommyinnit: what?** _

_**tommyinnit: cats dont live that long dream wtf** _

_**dream: patches is 138** _

_**dream: wait arent you coming onto the smp??** _

Oh shit, Tommy forgot about that, didn't he?

He looks over at his monitor setup at his desk, popping up from the bed. And then sitting right back down because getting up that fast is terrifying to the body. He presses his back to the wall, careful not to bonk his head right against it, and squints at his phone screen.

_**tommyinnit: give me time old man I almost died** _

_**dream: uh huh sure** _

_**dream: you wanna bring in tubbo? I have pandas and georges numbers saved** _

_**tommyinnit: I mean if youre bringing your friends then fuck yeah Im bringing mine** _

_**tommyinnit: tell george he sucks btw** _

_**dream: no <3** _

_**tommyinnit: youre literally no fun** _

_**dream: I can and will ban you from the server tommy** _

"Bitch," Tommy mutters. He can't help but grin a little at the reply though. Getting banned from the server isn't permanent, he knows that. Dream just likes having some sort of power over.. you know, his own server.

_**tommyinnit: woe is me bitch** _

_**tommyinnit: just give me a second to bring in tubster** _

Yeah, he's not calling his friend that anytime soon.

_**dream: sure** _

_**dream: meet me in vc1 when you guys are ready k?** _

_**tommyinnit: yeah yeah I get it** _

_**dream: cya then** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave some kudos, some comments, maybe hit that pretty subscribe button too!  
> it's free, and you can always unsubscribe!
> 
> I. AM. NOT. PREPARED. FOR. MY. OWN. WORK. LESGOOOOOOOOOOO!
> 
> random quote of the day:  
> "you fucked up" -tommyinnit


	2. Call Me Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream tries to get in touch with an old friend.
> 
> Well, one of many, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be focused on Dream's POV!

Celebrations really aren't Dream's thing.

He watched the ball drop in a livestream on YouTube, silently counting down with the audience watching the actual thing. For the past couple years, that's all he did to "celebrate" New Years. When he was 21 years old, he had his friends from the Dream SMP join one whole Discord voice channel so all of them can yell in celebration for the new year of 2021. They kept doing it until eventually only Tommy stayed in the call every time until year 2024.

Tommy claimed school could wait for the balls to drop, his phrasing earning a wheeze from Dream, and that he didn't really mind staying in the voice channel for the night. Dream can't recall how late it was for him, but it must've been early where Tommy lived. He never really keeps track of the different time zones most of his friends have. He doesn't even know when or if anyone left their country or their state.

For him, he stayed in Florida even up to current year of 2030. Instead of moving out, his parents had gone to live with his grandparents and let Drista, his sister, decide if she wants to live with him or go stay with their grandparents. She joked about it sounding almost like the movie Home Alone, except in this case she's not a child and the parents are letting her choose rather than up and leaving. She does end up bargaining to bring Patches, their cat, along to stay with Dream.

"Clay!" she yells, knocking on her brother's door.

Their bedrooms are separated with a bathroom right in the middle between them. Dream's recording studio, where he has his computer set up and sound-proof walls, sits untouched to the other side of his bedroom. It's not that he never uses the room, really. He just never has the same amount of motivation to upload anymore or to try and stay up long enough to watch his friends' Twitch streams. Well, he _used to_ watch their streams, until they completely stopped altogether. He tries not to think about it too much.

"Oh my _God,_ " Dream groans as he rolls over to face the wall. He has two white blankets stacked on top of him even though the weather's not exactly shit. He's said the extra weight gives him some kind of grounding and makes it comfortable enough to sleep. And it does. It makes him feel like he's trapped in a bear hug. That's something he hasn't had in a long while.

He half-expects his sister, who's seven years younger than him, to barge in unannounced. And she does.

Drista has her hair in messy curls down her shoulders, not having the time or the patience to uncurl anything or look "presentable". Not that she has to. To top it all off, she's wearing his merch from who-knows how long ago. It's a black hoodie with green eyes and a matching smile. To go with it, she's wearing black knee shorts and.. shoes? Why does she have shoes on?

He can't really say he looks anywhere as decent as she does. Not only does he have bed hair at the moment, messy strands everywhere on his head wanting to show themselves off, but he's in grey sweatpants and his own merch as well. Maybe it's to give him that little reminder that he once sold merchandise, or maybe it's to remind himself he used to be fairly known. Now that time has passed, looking down at his green hoodie with a black smiley face reminds him of his anonymity in the past. Even now, he's found people avoid looking at him and it never registers _why_.

"Get up, dumbass," she chuckles. She's holding Patches in her arms and letting the cat, who is wearing the white version of Dream's merch, mewl and try to attack her face with her paws and licks. Dream would've scolded her for the swear if one, she wasn't older than 14, and two, if she wasn't holding Patches. Somehow Patches always finds herself getting "in the way" of things, like Dream's attempts to start working on plugins and eventually abandoning them or Drista's attempts to make breakfast for everyone.

While she's really good at flipping pancakes and evening out which sides are burnt and which aren't, eggs are not her strong suit. She either cracks them as soon as she lets them fall into the pot, or she accidentally puts them in with actively cooking pancakes or drops them on the floor. That's why Dream usually has egg duty, and she's usually stuck with pancake duty. It's a little thing they've got going on and it seems to be working out great.

"Don't wanna," he complains, hissing under his breath when Drista moves to open his curtains. He knows she's proud of herself when he catches the grin on her face when he looks up at her. He lets out a light groan in response before he sits up, moving to lay his back against the wall. " _Why_ do I have to get up? We don't have anywhere to go."

Dream's good at schedules, even if it's not really _sleep_ schedules. The calendar in their kitchen has nearly every day written down in pen or sharpie for each event that's passed and has yet to pass. Holidays are left uncovered that are already printed on the calendar, which makes working around the printed words just slightly difficult. Then comes family holidays and events, like little family reunions on certain days and certain holidays.

He's sure he hasn't missed a holiday or event for January 1, 2030. There can't be anything _that_ important to do today for his sister to already be dressed up and ready to leave. Well, unless she plans on walking around the house with her shoes on.

"We literally never go to the mall anymore," Drista whines. When Patches leaps from her arms, the cat lays right down on the floor at her feet. Patches' comfortable right where she is, and so is Dream. "Is it really gonna kill you to go out with me and look nice?"

Dream wants to say something back, but a notification from his phone interrupts the thought process. It's from the Dream SMP Discord, his latest message being 'hello?' and the newest thing catching his eye is.. that Tommy's online.

"Clay!" Drista yells. It does no good, other than spooking Patches into scattering out of the room. She quietly tries calling after the cat before yelling a 'sorry Patches!' after Patches leaves. She sighs, not frustrated, but a little annoyed. "Clay, I _seriously_ wanna go to the mall right now."

"You have a license and a car," Dream answers, dismissively waving away at her. His free hand's waiting in anticipation as it seems Tommy is writing something in the chat.

_**tommyinnit: hi** _

He's about to type back before reading the next message. Christ, Tommy sure can type fast. Maybe all the gaming with his keyboard made him a typing pro.

_**tommyinnit: wait don't say anything** _

And so he doesn't. Dream looks up to see Drista standing there with her arms crossed, but she doesn't look overly impatient and seems to just be waiting on him to get his shit done with. He smiles at her and nods a little, as a silent 'thanks' before looking down at his screen again.

_**tommyinnit: dream?** _

_**dream: yeah?** _

_**tommyinnit: this is gonna sound weird but bear with me** _

If Tommy starts asking questions about adult life, Dream is in no way prepared for that.

_**dream: k** _

"Who are you even texting?" Drista finally asks. Dream's a little relieved that she isn't trying to snatch his phone right out of his hands like she used to do when she was younger.

"An old friend. You remember Tommy the Child, right?"

Drista taps her chin as she thinks, pouting her lips. "..The loud kid? You're still in contact with him? Is he still a child?"

Dream laughs aloud before shaking his head. "I think if you can go from a child to an adult, then obviously so can he."

"You never know, Clay. Maybe growth spurts don't exist for gremlin children."

"Then how'd you-"

Before he can finish his sentence, he catches the 'menacing' glare from his sister and wheezes. She can definitely be mature when she wants to be, when she _has_ to be, but in times like these? She can be just as immature and childish.

"Sorry, sorry!" Dream chuckles. He almost forgets he and Tommy are talking until he looks down at his phone, reading the quickly sent messages with a small smile.

_**tommyinnit: youre the green bastard from whatever years ago right?** _

_**tommyinnit: you stole my fucking discs and shit** _

_**tommyinnit: and then there was a whole fuckin WAR** _

The Dream SMP never had a boring day. Everyone was doing something at some point, unless they genuinely had nothing to do online. But that didn't happen often with all the wars, theft, bathwater, elections, and more. Being friends with _a lot_ of people, all with their own little ideas and improvisions, was and still is something Dream is thankful for. He wouldn't trade any of them for the world.

_**tommyinnit: which was pretty badass ngl** _

_**tommyinnit: but how are you still here??** _

He thinks about what he wants to say. He has gone on the Dream SMP over the couple of years, even after streaming and uploading were no longer in his interest. He remembers all the laughter and giggles that spilled throughout the world, from building a house with two of his best friends to siding with a psychopathic guitar man. Then, of course, wars and fights come into play like children trying to act tough. Some pets were lost, whether in the war or not even that.

He wonders if anyone remembers Henry and Mars. He knows he hasn't forgotten about Spirit.

Man, he's almost surprised his memory is actually perfectly intact.

_**dream: for a child you sure have a good memory** _

_**dream: but yeah you have it right** _

_**dream: wdym why am I still here?** _

He honestly doesn't think Tommy will take offense to being called a child now that he's.. like, older.

_**tommyinnit: I AM A GROWN ASS MAN HOW FUCKIN DARE YOU** _

_**tommyinnit: BET YOU ARE THE OLD ONE WITH GREEN WRINKLES AND SHIT** _

Wait, how old even is Tommy?

_**dream: wait how old are you??** _

_**tommyinnit: 26 dipshit** _

So he's 10 years older now. Time sure does fly quickly, doesn't it?

_**dream: oh** _

_**tommyinnit: how fuckin old are you?** _

Dream almost wants to lie just for a bit. Like to say he's a thousand years old, but then Tommy might take that chance to make fun of him for being old. He sighs and chooses to be honest, not wanting to risk it just for a bit. Not that he doesn't find it funny, but maybe pissing off the younger man shouldn't be the first thing he does in the morning. Even if he _really_ wants to.

_**dream: 30** _

_**tommyinnit: oh shit youre old** _

He'd be lying if he says that expected reply doesn't make him chuckle. Even Drista knows he's a little bit amused.

_**dream: you are like 5 years from my age tommy** _

_**tommyinnit: 30-5=25 ???** _

Oh. He counted a little far, he assumes.

_**dream: 1 number off whatever** _

_**dream: and I was looking to see if anyones still here** _

_**tommyinnit: why?** _

He wants to play with everyone again, honestly. He likes spending time with his family through visits, giving Patches hugs and pats, and trying to play Animal Crossing with his sister despite him having to play on her game. He also used to like spending time with his friends, making Church Prime and laughing while teasing each other through fits of giggles. He misses everyone's voices and such, really.

_**dream: curious I guess** _

_**dream: do you wanna come on the smp with me?** _

_**dream: unless you have a job now or something** _

Dream can't imagine Tommy with a job. Carrying his YouTube and Twitch career, sure, but he hasn't uploaded or streamed in years. _No one_ has. He thinks Tommy might be in college, maybe, or he's still searching. Or maybe he doesn't care that much and has a small job or he's unemployed.

He doesn't have a job himself, and he doesn't necessarily count messing with codes and making plugins for Minecraft as a job. More like a regular hobby to play with what he can and can't do. Nothing more.

_**tommyinnit: sure why not** _

He truthfully feels relieved from the reply, sighing quietly. When he looks up, Drista's no longer in his doorway. He does notice that the post-it she left reads 'waiting outside 4 you'. He just knows that means he really has to take her to the mall and look "presentable". Their clothes are in fine condition and they have enough food for the rest of the week, maybe two weeks, so he doesn't see the point in going.

He won't dare spoil his sister's wants to have fun, though. It'll grant both of them time out of the house for some relaxation. With Florida's heated weather, which he thinks he's getting used to but really is surprised each time, there isn't too much to do outside. Well, without friends, anyway.

_**tommyinnit: my mum sent a picture of our dogs just now, wanna see them?** _

Oh! Betty and Walter have been living pretty long lives, haven't they? Dream remembers a little more about Walter, but he has heard about Betty's _existence_ from who he thinks was either Wilbur or Tubbo. He's not sure which. It does feel somewhat reassuring Tommy hasn't lost either of them. He's happy he hasn't lost Patches himself.

He wouldn't know what to do.

_**dream: sure!** _

Tommy sends a picture to the chat, making Dream wonder if anyone's secretly lurking in an offline status. He kind of hopes that's the case, and that eventually someone else will show themselves and join them in the SMP or at _least_ the conversation.

Walter's wearing a shirt while he's sitting in the younger man's room, looking dashing as always. He does look older and bigger now, and so does Betty, whose tail is mid-wag with one of her paws lifted to almost wave at the camera. Well, Dream interprets it as a wave. He thinks it can be endearing how animals communicate to their own kind and others outside of their circles.

He can tell Tommy's been taking care of them, and so has his family. If his mother had them in her care, then maybe Tommy just visits when he gets the chance. He believes the young man would totally make a VOD about visiting to see his family and the dogs.

_**dream: they look bigger now holy shit!** _

_**tommyinnit: the bigger the better** _

_**tommyinnit: hows patches?** _

His lips quirk up to a smile before he quickly sends a picture of his cat to the chat. He always has something ready to send, specifically pictures of Patches. He can't help that she looks fashionable 24/7. Especially in the picture he's sending, where Patches' wearing a green hoodie. _His merch_ , more specifically.

_**tommyinnit: how old is she?? she looks ancient!!!** _

Dream grins a little as he types back.

_**dream: 138 years old :)** _

Tommy's reply about cats not being able to live that long made him laugh, and he insists Patches is 138 years old. When he asks if Tommy's coming to the SMP, the younger man tells him to hold on because he "almost died". Maybe his bones are all old and cracking.

He can't wait to start teasing his friend again, like good old times.

He asks if Tommy's bringing Tubbo, since he himself has Sapnap's and George's numbers still in his phone and ready to dial. He can't remember the last time they talked, whether FaceTime, texting, Snapchat, or just Discord alone. It's been a surprisingly long time. Too long not to miss his best friends.

After he gets the a-okay that Tommy's going to bring in Tubbo, he lets him know to join the first voice chat when they're ready while he gets himself set up as well. He says nothing about having plans to take his sister to the mall, thinking it won't be too long of a visit. He'll have his phone with him at all times, so he thinks as long as he's in the Discord, then it's fine. Anyone can reach him if they need him, just not through Minecraft.

"On my way!" Dream yells, almost uselessly. He knows his sister's definitely keeping her word and waiting by the car outside, but he likes to speak out loud from time to time. Yelling never really hurt his ears, even through headphones when his friends bickered constantly with each other. He's just used to it.

He sets his phone on his blanket, after gently kicking it off of him, and goes over to his closet. He slides out of his sweatpants to put on a comfortable pair of pants worth going out with, slipping on cat-themed socks. Drista bought them for him for his birthday some time ago, which was _meant_ to mock him for his love for cats, but it really just made him love them _more_. He finds it funny how it backfired on his sister like that.

Scooping his phone in his hand, he hums some little tune to himself before leaving his room. His hair's looking fine when he peeks into the bathroom to check through the mirror. He wriggles his fingers around to comb it out some more, and it lets the longer strands fall a little down the front of his shoulders. He sets the phone on the sink after checking it's an actually dry surface, then uses a hair tie to pull his hair up in a neatly tied ponytail. It's not particularly long, more in the middle with the amount of hair he has. Drista has called him Rapunzel on many accounts. And on said accounts, he takes the title with pride.

It's only been fifteen or so minutes before he makes it outside with his shoes on and phone in hand. He wastes no time when Drista slides in the front seat with her keys jingling in her hand. While both of them have licenses to drive, only Drista's interested in driving places while Dream's keen on staying home or walking to places. Depends how far they have to go.

"How come George doesn't upload anymore?" Drista asks, meeting her brother's eyes through the rearview mirror when he gets in the backseat. She tried multiple times to get him to sit upfront with her, but it always ends with him saying how he doesn't want to see danger right up close. He says it's different to be in a genuinely terrifying situation in real life compared to a game.

"Dunno," Dream answers. He has the idea to try and contact George, so he goes into his contacts to do so. "Haven't talked to him or Pandas in years, you know that."

"Pandas?"

His thumb hovers over George's name in his contact list. He doesn't say anything before lazily putting on his seatbelt when he notices the car's starting to move, the engine roaring beautifully. Something about the way an engine purrs gets him hyped up somehow, and he doesn't really want to bother figuring out why. Other than comparing it to a cat's purr, even if those are two entirely different, he doesn't know why it gives him a happy feeling.

He decides to try and call Sapnap.

"Shh, I'm calling someone," he half-whispers, grateful when Drista knowingly nods when she glances at him through the rearview. She has both hands on the wheel and one foot on the gas, carefully making her way through the streets of Florida. "C'mon Nick, you better-"

"Y'ello?" a gruff voice groans.

"Pandas!" Dream doesn't mean to sound happy, but fuck it. He's overjoyed his friend picked up, even if he sounds like he's healing after a bar fight. Well, he hopes that's not the case. "I am _so_ glad to hear from you again! I, uh, haven't talked to George yet, but I wanted to see if you were up first. And you are! Pan-"

"Who's this?" Sapnap's voice is almost muffled, but it's loud enough for Dream to hear him. It reminds him of George's sleep talking from several years back. Except in this case, the Texan man's not sleep talking. Or Dream doesn't think he is.

He can't have forgotten who Dream is, could he?

"It's Clay, Pandas."

"Who?"

He's no longer focused on looking at the passing cars through either window. He doesn't know if Sapnap's just messing with him, if he's too tired to process who he's talking to, or if something is genuinely happening.

" _Clay_ ," he huffs. "DreamWasTaken? Dream? Manhunt? Do any of those ring a bell to you?"

"Dream?" Sapnap repeats. The grogginess in his voice seems to have disappeared, so maybe he's finally waking up properly. "DREAM!"

Dream winces and pulls his phone away from his ear. His friend may be older, but his voice can still go surprisingly high. He decides to put the call on speaker and holds it just a little below his eyes, sinking a tad in his seat. He can hear his sister giggling in the front seat, knowing he got spooked. He pretends not to notice.

"Yes, Sap, it's me," he chuckles, hoping to ease the sudden tensity in his shoulders. He really wishes his friend would've given him a warning, but then again, he doesn't expect anything different from him. "Are- Are you still in Texas? Still being a barking cowboy over there?"

He feels his smile change to a grin when he hears an all-familiar giggle spill through the phone. His friends' laughs are the best and he loves them, no matter how many years have passed or how different they are now. He absolutely loves all of his friends.

God, he's a real sap, isn't he?

"I moved, actually."

He almost wants to guess where Sapnap could possibly be living now. Maybe he moved to a whole other country! Canada, maybe? Or he's still in the states, having fun with whatever other friends he's made and drinking his life away as a legal adult. If he drinks, at least. Dream's not sure how much of his friend has really changed.

A little part of him wants to ask if he moved to North Carolina to be roommates with Karl and maybe slither his way into the MrBeast gang.

"Ooh, did you?" he hums, clearly amused. He likes little guessing games, especially about his friends. "Perhaps you're staying with Karl in North Carol?"

"I _knew_ you'd say that, dude!"

Dream can't help but wheeze through a fit of laughter.

"As much as I miss my Karly-Warly," Sapnap pitches his voice a little higher near the end, earning more laughs out of the older man. "I did _not_ , in fact, move to North Carol. Ooh, wait! How 'bout this? We guess where each other are, and- and there's like a _prize_."

He can't tell if Sapnap's just messing with him or if he has truly become a MrBeast fan. Probably both.

"Okay.." he trails off to think about a "prize". He notices that Drista's now pulling the car to park up to the front of the mall, turning off the engine when the car sits fine in place. She gives him a 'look', one reading 'you ready?', and waits until Dream returns the look with a nod. She grins and pockets her keys quickly, stepping out of the car in an instant to stretch her legs.

Dream hesitates to think before shaking his head. He sometimes forgets Drista wears her seatbelt at an odd angle where it looks like she's not wearing it, but it's really just hidden in place. He takes off his own seatbelt before getting out of the car, turning off speaker to press his phone against his ear after shutting the door. He trusts his sister enough to begin following her into the mall.

"If I guess where you are, you owe me $500."

"Pandas." He gets no chance to back out when his friend continues. He knows better than to try and change the Texan's mind, both of them being awfully stubborn to back out of challenges and deals. Even now they still act somewhat the same as they did years before.

"And if you guess where I am, I'll give you $50."

Okay, Sapnap's definitely still as cocky as before.

"Only $50? Why do I have to pay more?"

"You're rich!"

There is no possible way his raven-haired friend thinks Dream can _possibly_ have that much money. Well, not on him, at least.

"..Uh huh," Dream answers, doubtfully. He lets out a hesitant breath when they start heading into Hot Topic. Well, _towards_ it, but his eyes laid on GameStop. He's sure he hasn't been to it since he was younger, only a couple years ago or so. It's not filling with as many people as it used to, only at least one or two families entering and leaving without having bought anything. They were only lookers. "Sure, and what happens if we're both wrong? Or if we're both right?"

He gently grabs his sister's sleeve to halt her from walking, doing the same himself. He tells her he'll meet her in Hot Topic while he goes to GameStop, and she agrees before dashing off. She has the keys, so it's clear he isn't planning on ditching her. Besides, she just wants to be out of the house. And honestly? So does he.

He only realizes Sapnap hasn't spoken after he enters GameStop, stopping in the entrance to look at the shelf in front of him. There used to be at least two sections for Minecraft on either side of the shelf for.. what, three years straight? They were all the rage back then, at _some point_ , and they were relevant to the gaming community. Minecraft still is, sure, but a majority of formerly popular creators have lost their fan bases and little communities from no more uploads or streams. Dream frowns at the thought. It's not that he isn't happy for other, smaller creators getting their well-deserved popularity and their own communities. He's overjoyed for them!

It just doesn't feel the same not waking up early to argue with children, engage in server wars, and tease his best friends on all possible forms of media.

"Sap?" he asks quietly, suddenly feeling a wave of discomfort rush through him. Thoughts of knowing people moved on, _still_ moving on, begin clouding his mind. He knows he shouldn't feel bad about it. People grow up and people change, he gets that. Certain people's likes and standards for other people constantly open up to _endless_ possibilities and _endless_ results. He'll never ask for them to go back in time or anything. He just hopes at least a small group of people remember.. remember _all of them_.

_Call has been disconnected._

Dream awkwardly moves off to the side for people to come in and check out the shelves he previously stood in front of. He shakes his head to try and make himself feel better, but he's not really sure it does. Instead, he pockets his phone and tries fixating on anything else. A lit screen to his left catches his eye, where an almost-young girl is playing Minecraft. A game Dream's all-too familiar with over the years, even after he stopped streaming and uploading. He's honestly just surprised the 'playing station' as he dubbed it has _Minecraft_ as a game to try out.

"Hey, you play this game?" he asks, staying somewhat against the wall as he watches the child's character, a basic Steve, sprint around a grass field. "I play this a lot myself, actually- Uh, enough about me. Sorry."

The young girl looks up at him, and he feels like he can see the cogs in her brain turning. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. He should probably get back to his sister-

Those thoughts tear from his thoughts when his eyes snap to the screen. Her character's already wearing diamond _everything_ , topped with a... wooden sword. "I do play this a lot, yeah, but at home. I do come here sometimes to play on this, but it's only whenever my parents are out, you know?"

Yeah. Even if he's not living with his parents anymore, he definitely used to stop by and gush about how _awesome_ their displays were in shelves and baskets. It was like a candy store, but for someone who only had and _still_ has an interest in Minecraft. It's, surprisingly or not, the only game he's actually enjoyed. Sure, he has played other games before, like Among Us or CS:GO, but neither compared to how _fun_ Minecraft felt for him. It still feels almost refreshing getting to load up a new world like he's always been doing, just this time it's not for an audience and not in front of one.

"Yeah, I get that." He has to pause before he goes on. He glances around, not catching any eyes from any of the other adults who seem occupied with game covers and those little figurines they have in random spots. Maybe that's just a fun thing they have now? He looks back to the girl, and she's really.. _really_ not giving two shits about wearing diamond. Hell, even with more diamonds from _apparently_ creative mode, which Dream didn't notice she switched to at first, she doesn't care enough to change her wooden sword to something better.

Then again, it's quite literally creative mode. She can do whatever she wants in the game, unless there are specific rules she has to abide by. Not crashing the game is probably one of them.

"Where, uh, are your parents? Or are they waiting for you outside?"

He's really trying to make friendly conversation. And on the other side, he doesn't want this child losing sight of whoever brought her here to go wherever in the fuck they went. If anyone _did_ bring her here, of course. He really hopes she hasn't just come alone with no one to look after her.

"My big brother's in charge of me while our parents are gone," the girl answers with no issue. When he focuses more on her, he starts noticing actual details he would've not cared about before. He doesn't have anything to do right now, so talking to her until her brother comes back seems fine. Or until she gets bored of the game and leaves.

The girl in question doesn't look any older than an adult, and no younger than 12 years. Her hair's up in a short ponytail, reminding him of himself, and her head is full of bright brown hair and held up by glittery purple butterfly clips. He swears Drista used to own them when she was _way_ younger, and he honestly thinks she still has them. The girl reminds him a little of how Drista used to dress when she was younger; plush brown boots with puff balls bouncing on one side of them, dark green pants that look like something between leggings and just regular pants, and a just-as-regular grey hoodie with a goose on the front and back of it.

After switching to survival mode, trashing her items and resetting the game to a new world, the girl turns to face Dream. "My name's Mary, dude. And you don't look like a total loser, you know? Not all old people are weird, I guess, or something like that."

He shouldn't be surprised, but sometimes, he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave some kudos, some comments, maybe hit that pretty subscribe button too!  
> it's free, and you can always unsubscribe!
> 
> I think this is one of the longest chapters I've ever written, so POGCHAMP!
> 
> random quote of the day:  
> "I don't give a FUCK about ANYTHING!" -dream


	3. Tweet Tweet!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skeppy always keeps his Twitter notifications on for his friends.
> 
> He's always eager to finally see a notification pop up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be focused on Skeppy's POV!

Skeppy believes he's the most patient person out there.

For some years or so, he and many other Dream SMP members screamed cheers together in one Discord voice channel to celebrate the coming of a new year. He can't remember how many times he returned to the Discord to see just Tommy and Dream talking together. He was always one of the last to leave himself, wanting to get out all his goodbyes and last chats before letting his computer sit with its power off.

He and his closest friend, his _best friend_ , Bad kept close contact with each other over Discord, Twitter, and daily late-night calls and early-morning texts for a majority of their time together. They made promises to each other to keep talking, keep finding _something_ to babble to each other about. Neither wanted to cut the contact, even if it meant them growing distant from their other friends who had grown apart from each other themselves.

They somehow always found something to talk about.

He showed off Rocco's growth in becoming a bigger dog, still fluffy as per usual, in exchange of Bad's pictures of Rat still staying so small yet furry and yippy. At some point after multiple exchanges of dog pictures, Bad mentioned wanting to finally meet Skeppy face-to-face. He said it'd be nice for them to, well, see each other after the years they've known each other online. He also included the fact that Rat would absolutely _love_ to befriend Rocco, who Skeppy said would enjoy the other dog's company immensely.

And honestly, Skeppy wanted to be able to hug his best friend at least once.

When the first day of 2030 hit, he has lost contact with said best friend. He can't remember who left first or why they suddenly stopped talking together, but it just _happened_. No more dog pictures, no more memes, no more 'good morning's or goodnight songs. No more jokes, no more teasing, and no more talking. It all ceased as soon as December 2024 was over.

Nowadays, Skeppy's been keeping himself busy with tweets. Reading them, writing them, you name it.

Even now, he's currently scrolling through screenshots he has taken of certain tweets he made with Bad, trying to relive the memories that way. He wonders if his friend has moved anywhere, curious what has happened with his friend since they last spoke.

**18th October, 2020**

**Skeppy (@Skeppy): Happy muffinversary, @BadBoyHalo!**

**> BadBoyHalo (@BadBoyHalo): Happy muffinversary to you too, @Skeppy! :D**

**> Vurb (@JustVurb): get u someone who celebrates ur anniversary like these two**

**> F1NN5TER (@F1NN5TER): Happy Muffinversary!**

**> Spifey (@Spifeyy): this is like a birthday but birthing is the surprise**

For Skeppy, he still lives in good ol' California. The state of pure warmth and strange news articles. With the strangeness of California's news, he knows they have no chance against random animals finding lost items in the bottom of rivers in Florida. Floridians are an odd bunch of people that he doesn't want to compete with, and knows there's no chance he has against them.

**18th October, 2022**

**BadBoyHalo (@BadBoyHalo): HAPPY MUFFINVERSARY @Skeppy!**

**> Skeppy (@Skeppy): happy muffinversary @BadBoyHalo!**

**> Vurb (@JustVurb): fwb for 5 years now congrats guys**

**> F1NN5TER (@F1NN5TER): happy Muffinversary guys!**

**> Spifey (@Spifeyy): happy not-birthday to you**

They've been mini-celebrating over Twitter each time their muffinversary popped up. Up until their last shared celebration on October 18th of 2024. Before, he just thought the constancy was annoying his friend and that he didn't feel like celebrating the anniversary of their friendship every single time. He was fine with that.

**18th October, 2024**

**Skeppy (@Skeppy): happy #muffinversary everybody**

**> BadBoyHalo (@BadBoyHalo): Happy #muffinversary, you muffinhead!**

**> Vurb (@JustVurb): and ur now fwb for 7 years congrats u guys**

**> F1NN5TER (@F1NN5TER): happy muffinversary!**

**> Spifey (@Spifeyy): wonder how long they are gonna remember this celebration before their oldness kicks in**

Now, Skeppy isn't sure what to think about it. He doesn't mind not celebrating it every single time, he gets how annoyingly consistent that can be for both of them and their followers. But wouldn't Bad talk to him for his thoughts on it? Or maybe it was just Bad's thing, letting Skeppy decide if he wanted to continue doing it on his own or stopping too.

He looks at his last screenshot. It's their last conversation on Twitter. It's been getting more likes even now, even new comments filing in wondering who they are, with each time he goes to his friend's page to check out their conversation fully.

**25th December 2024**

**BadBoyHalo (@BadBoyHalo): Morning, muffins! I'll be taking a break from streaming and uploading to work on my mental health. I don't know how long it'll take, but it's okay, I promise I'll come back when I'm feeling all better! Remember to drink plenty of water, get well-deserved rest, shower yourself with love and appreciation, and take time to make yourself happy however you can! I love you guys so, SO much, and thank you SO much for staying around for as long as you have. You muffins are amazing!**

**> Vurb (@JustVurb): i love u too badboyhalo, u deserve a vacation with ur fwb so take as much time as u need dude**

**> F1NN5TER (@F1NN5TER): get your rest bad, we'll all be hyping each other up while we wait for your return!**

**> Spifey (@Spifeyy): sleep well man, we're all here for you whenever you come back**

**> Skeppy (@Skeppy): Love you Bad, take your time getting yourself all healthy and all.**

**> >BadBoyHalo (@BadBoyHalo): Thank you! <3**

**> >Skeppy (@Skeppy): Don't mention it. <3**

He knows there are other comments aside from theirs, but their conversation's enough to perfectly fit one screenshot. Just reading their tweets over and over again fills Skeppy with a headachy feeling. Not necessarily a terrible feeling, but the type of feeling he gets when he wants to DM Bad about actually meeting up yet refraining from doing so. It's like an itching sensation to say something, _anything_ , without being confident enough to _actually do it_.

He realizes he hasn't kept contact with.. any of his friends, honestly.

Spifey used to give him constant messages about how "healthy kissing is" and other things along those lines. Of course, his beaver friend knew when to angle the chat onto something serious when needed.

With Finn, he gave little reminders about getting good hours of sleep and making sure not to burn the house down. It usually ended in the two exchanging silly photos of their faces, holding up peace signs and sticking their tongues out, then hopping off with little 'goodnight's.

Vurb's the last he expected to stick around longer. He did make many, many _endless_ references to feet and toes, fitting his title as "the toe guy" too comfortably. But even with his childishly immature behavior, he helped with the rough times of grief and loss Skeppy dealt with over the years. He knows Spifey and Finn also did their best when they were around, offering as much helpful tips they can to help with the grieving and the sadness. And he knows Vurb can.. _read_ people. In a way he's never seen before.

The guy just seems to _know_ exactly when something's wrong, somehow _always_ finding the right words to say. Sure, he mentions feet here and there, but he doesn't let that distract from the point of the conversation. That is, until Vurb's whole point _is_ to be distracting. In which case, that's definitely his specialty.

He talks about feet as a minor subject if he's aware their conversation's meant to be serious, or about something big, not wanting to come off as though he doesn't get it. He lets his friends spill all their thoughts and feelings out to him, even if he can't answer right away or if he can't answer at all. He lets them know he's always open for a conversation, all while making it clear he won't try to coerce them into saying or doing what they feel uncomfortable with.

Skeppy watches as a small spot of water plops onto his screen, catching him from his thoughts. He turns off the phone so it's a black screen, allowing him to carefully dry away the spot without accidentally messing up the screenshot. Or any of the screenshots.

He's about to turn it back on, wiping his eyes from their teary state, until a notification turns it on instead.

_**"Discord 1s ago** _

_**DM megapvp: Zak, call me."**_

Him and Mega don't really talk as often, mostly because they both have very different sleep schedules and different things keeping them occupied. With neither of them streaming or uploading, not that it's a surprise in Mega's case, for a long period of time now, they managed to gain a little bit of lost contact. They don't have much to talk about though, but when they do have time to talk to each other, sticking to only messages for both their preferences, their conversations last to the next morning or for over an hour.

Back when they used to make videos, Mega continued refusing to speak no matter how many times Skeppy has asked him. He did get his silent friend to snap for him and to hear him click obnoxiously at his keyboard, so that's something positive. And they had a subtle friendship, or acquaintanceship at least, that fans found interesting enough to comment about how their dynamic is like "extrovert and introvert". It was clear which was which.

Now, Skeppy's not the only extrovert out of the two of them. Mega's been using his voice more than messages, comfortable enough not to have his voice caught on a stream or on a video. He learned to trust the Californian enough to use his voice with him. He does speak quietly when he finds himself stammering, and Skeppy always keeps quiet to let his friend finish what he's wanting to say. And Mega does the same in return, waiting for Skeppy to finish his sentence before adding one of his own, whether it's for the same topic or if he's wanting to change it.

They bounce thoughts off of each other somehow extremely well.

Something Skeppy has realized after spending more time with Mega is that the guy can make so, so many topics suddenly interesting.

Skeppy can start making a complaint about Minecraft caves, and then Mega can point out the differences between the current updates and past updates, much to the other man's interests. Something about the way Mega gets super into what he's talking about sends a strike of energy towards Skeppy's brain. It's like he can understand every little thing Mega's talking about, even if he's not fully paying attention to what they're saying. Even if he misses one word, he'll make it make sense in his mind and be able to get Mega's confirmation that that's _exactly_ what he's saying.

They've learned to read each other through their words, and Skeppy's grateful for the trust the Canadian has in him to be able to share his voice so freely. Not only that, but he has created such a vibrant, energetic environment between the two of them. It's a little like the spark he shared with Bad when they used to tackle topics together.

Except this time, it has a chance to last.

Skeppy shakes his head a bit before accepting the Discord call Mega sends for the third time now. He runs a hand through his hair, being able to catch the streaks of blue he had gotten first a few years back. It's only been six or seven times, maybe somewhere in the middle, that he's gotten fresher streaks for his hair.

It started with some sort of bet he made with Bad, where he lost and had to dye his hair blue, something he had already considered doing prior to the bet.

Even though he never told Bad in case he'd end up backing out and not going through with the bet, which his friend reassured was _fine_ if it made him uncomfortable in any way, he ended up going through with the damn bet and dyed his hair blue. When it faded out within one or two months, appreciating how bright it made his hair look in the time he had it, he worked on adding highlights to his hair instead. He figured it was less of a hassle to deal with, even if they faded out in a smaller amount of time.

While he doesn't remember the bet itself, he does know they made one and _that_ was his "punishment". He'll have to thank Bad at some point for coming up with it, if they ever get to talking again.

"Zak, you there man?"

Oh shit, he's on a call.

"Uh," Skeppy starts, coughing out a quick 'sorry'. He's just glad Mega hasn't started spouting swears at him. They're never done out of malicious intent, not like back then, moreso to add to playful banter they usually shared. "I- I was thinking about something, my bad. What were you-"

"What were you thinking about?"

Of course he's turning the conversation right back to what he's _trying_ not to focus on. He doesn't blame Mega though, the guy's just generally interested in people's thoughts. It gives him something to "work with", as he puts it, like there's something about a person's _thoughts_ that says a lot about them.

Skeppy doesn't get it, nor does he pretend he does. He just lets his friend spout out any and all questions that bubble up in his mind.

"I miss Darryl, man," he mutters, but he knows the other can hear him perfectly.

"I do too, dude," Mega replies, his voice unnaturally quiet for the loudmouth he usually is. But Skeppy appreciates the change in tone. "I actually wanted to call because of something I _think_ you'd be happy to hear."

Skeppy goes to sit up from the couch before laying right back down, careful not to let his phone fall. He lets out a quiet huff and pulls one of his hoodie strings, something to do with his previously unoccupied hand and for his brain to have at least two things to focus on. He doesn't like only having to do _one_ thing, like studying for a test for example, so he finds other things to do so he can multitask instead.

"What's up then?" he asks, curious as to what his friend is up to. Knowing him from the conversations they've gotten themselves into over the years, it's either about him leaving Canada to come visit him _or_ he has managed to ride a moose.

Mega's been telling him childhood stories about how he's always wanted to ride a moose despite finding them scarily tall. While Skeppy's never had the same passion about that, he _has_ mentioned trying to float with cardboard and toilet paper in his childhood home's pool. Mega brings it up to him whenever they dive into childhood discussions, lightly teasing him about 'being one dumbass child'.

Okay, _maybe_ he didn't phrase it like that, but Skeppy knew that's what he meant every time he brought it up.

"I think I met Darryl."

That grabs Skeppy's attention real quick.

"Wha-"

"It was honestly by accident, I swear to you-"

" _He's in Canada?!_ "

A shade of red decorates the teal man's cheeks when he hears Mega laugh in response, likely finding it funny how _dumb_ of a question that was.

"No, dumbass," Mega chuckles, trying to get the last of his laughs out. Hearing Skeppy groan in slight embarrassment makes that just a bit more difficult. "I'm in America, though."

Oh.

_Oh_.

"Wait- You're in America? I- I thought you didn't want to leave Canada because of the meese-"

" _Moose_ , Zak," Mega groaned, but his friend could practically hear his smile. "And I came to America around a year ago, wanting to surprise you, actually. But I forgot to bring it up 'cause we keep talking about other, non-movey-roundy things, you know? So, I just never brought it up and forgot that, hey, I'm assumed to still be in Canada."

Before Skeppy can get a word in about 'meese' being corrected to 'moose', his talkative friend continues.

"Anyway! I don't really know what he looks like now, you know, but I _assumed_ it's him because.. I don't know, he gives me that kind of atmosphere that only _he_ can give off? Something like that. But, _anyway_ , he's in Califo-"

"HE'S IN CALIFORNIA?!" Skeppy screams. He quickly covers his mouth when he realizes his own outburst, trying to push himself more against the comfort of the couch as if that'd do anything. Newsflash, it most certainly did not. And by now, he wants to end the call and try finding Bad's contact, wanting to call his former best friend in hopes he'll pick up. In hopes they can still talk _so much_ more now that they've been apart for.. too long, Skeppy'll say. Too long. "Why the- How- Where?!"

"I came to surprise you, so where do you think he'd be if we accidentally met?"

The cogs in the younger man's brain whirred around, trying to figure this out like some sort of puzzle. Apparently Mega can tell due to his friend's sudden silence, so he continues anyway.

"L.A., dumbass. We met at the dog park when we happened to be two of the few people getting our dogs out and about."

"You have a dog?"

" _Zak_ ," he groaned in exasperation. It makes Skeppy feel comfortable knowing he can regularly piss someone off, even if his friend's not genuinely pissed at him. Just annoyed, which he's absolutely fine with. " _Yes_ , I got a Chihuahua after I came here. But that's not important! What _is_ important is that your literal best friend is _here_ , and I _accidentally_ met him, and you-"

He wonders if Mega'll ever get annoyed at how many times Skeppy's going to interrupt him.

"Did you talk to him about me?" he asks.

"Well-"

"Why'd he stop streaming?" he continues.

"I-"

"And why'd he stop uploading?"

"Oh my god-"

"Is it a personal thing?"

"ZAK!"

He really shouldn't be this entertained with riling his friend up, but _by god_ he is. He just giggles back, covering himself with the playful blanket of childishness they somehow easily slip into. It's not unfamiliar to either of them, honestly. Mega's used to Skeppy's childish outbursts and easy interest over certain things, and Skeppy's used to Mega's laughs and faux annoyance.

"You literally never change, holy fuck," Mega mutters, and Skeppy can only grin at that, even if his friend can't see it. "I don't know why he stopped uploading or streaming, I'm sure you can ask him about that, and I didn't really get a chance to talk about you with him."

"Oh."

Skeppy doesn't mind too much.

He knows Bad'll recognize him when they meet up for a friendly reunion, maybe with Mega there too so they can talk about what they've missed out on their years apart from each other. He doesn't mind if Mega doesn't want to show up though, knowing the man still likes having some privacy.

He also knows Mega's not a fan of talking to people he doesn't know yet or people he doesn't feel close to, and Skeppy's sure Bad might be on that 'no talk' list for now.

"I'm supposed to meet him again in an hour, though."

How many times is Mega going to withhold valuable information from him?

"Why?" Skeppy pauses, thinking of a much better question in seconds. "When?"

"I just said in an hour, Zak, _please_ for the love of fuck turn your ears on."

Maybe he just wanted the confirmation, he's not sure. But what he _is_ sure of is the fact he's going to finally see Mega face-to-face, _maybe_ his dog if he's lucky, and reunite with his best friend.

Is 'best friend' even the right word for Bad now?

He shakes his head as not to think about it. He hates overthinking, even if he's somewhat aware how far down he can spiral into his 'overthinking zone' in his head. Mega's had to pull him, metaphorically, out of that zone far too many times for him not to be aware of its existence.

"Okay, uh, _why_ are you meeting him again, then?"

By now, Skeppy's sitting up with interest at the fact that, in an hour, he has one whole opportunity to sneak on Mega's meeting with Bad to see their friend for once. He debates on whether to start getting dressed for a while as he waits for Mega's reply.

He's wearing his favorite teal hoodie, not losing interest in his favorite type of clothes even as a 29-year-old. His feet are wrapped in plain white socks with yellow ducks on them, a gift he's received from a fan some time over the years who _insisted_ on making clothes for different Minecraft YouTubers. His pants are comfortable black sweatpants, the drawstrings nonexistent and possibly hidden under one of Rocco's piles of.. well, not _trash_ , but clothes-he-thinks-are-his-toys.

Something like that.

He thinks that's about as presentable as he can get, eyeing a pair of yellow sandals by the front door. He has no idea where his shoes are, most likely at the adorable paws of his dear dog, so he goes over to them and sits close to the pair of footwear. All while making sure he doesn't end the call, and that he doesn't drop the phone.

"..Mega?"

He surely hasn't hung up on him, right?

"Yeah?"

Okay, good. He hasn't.

"You didn't answer my question, buddy," Skeppy hums, holding off teasing his friend for not answering or not even hearing him. He slips his socked feet into the sandals and stands up, leaning against the wall to avoid falling face-first into the floor. He sighs in relief when it seems his friend over the phone hasn't caught his near mistake.

"Oh, sorry, dude," Mega's voice is a little quieter now, and Skeppy can't help but wonder why. "What's your question again?"

"I asked _why_ you're meeting up with Darryl," Skeppy repeats, hoping now that he'll get an answer.

"He wants to compare our dogs and talk about them," Mega answers almost immediately, keeping that same, quiet tone.

Comparing dogs sounds like the strangest way for Bad to socialize with others, but hey, that's his friend. And his friend happens to have a dog, just as Skeppy does, so who is he to make fun of him for finding friends- old friends, really- through the wonders of dogs?

That should be a movie.

"Mega!"

It takes some seconds for Skeppy's brain to register what's going on over the phone.

"Oh hey, Darryl!"

Skeppy can't hear anything but the call end, and he can't see anything when he holds his phone tight in one hand and the doorknob in the other.

Everything looks bright when the sun decides to blast in his face upon opening the door, not having done so in quite a while, before he finally makes it out. It takes the guy a couple moments to go back in, grab his keys, lock his door accordingly, and _then_ make one mad dash down the block.

He's going to meet his best friend, and no one's going to stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave some kudos, some comments, maybe hit that pretty subscribe button too!  
> it's free, and you can always unsubscribe!
> 
> hehehehehe :)
> 
> random quote of the day:  
> "I have no desires" -skeppy


	4. Ruff Day, Huh?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad spends so much time by himself and with his adorable dog, Lucy.
> 
> Well, now that time's extended with newly fresh faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be focused on Bad's POV!

34 years of living, and Bad hasn't been more exhausted.

He can't really remember how long it's been since he celebrated the oncoming new year with someone, like the supposed 'Dream SMP' he's been seeing fanart and fanfictions of as years pass by. He's certain it must have been _years_ by now, and that everyone has moved on from that server to.. well, do whatever they want with their lives.

Bad never gives it too much thought, not wanting to dwell on a past not worth getting upset over.

The server probably went away, either by Minecraft's love for updates or by Dream's sake.

Gosh, it's nearly impossible to even think what everyone's up to nowadays, if they're not doing something stupidly dangerous like _taming a lion_ or _going to space without training_.

Okay, no, no. That last one doesn't seem like something anyone he knows would do. Well, _knew_ , is a better word for it.

He remembers keeping little tabs on most people on the server at some point, like the 'Dream Team' (which he thinks sounds like a funny rename for the _Wonder Pets!_ ). He's been friends with them for years, from MunchyMC to the SMP server his friend, Dream, made for all of his friends. He thinks they had to have been close in the working field, but that's almost a blurry memory by now.

He's sitting at his kitchen table with his laptop out in front of him; a forum for the website Code For The Kids sits on his screen, his inbox flooded with hundreds of messages from people all across the world.

Around 2023, he and Punz have helped Sam with his idea for teaching kids how to code through Minecraft.

Sam's interest in coding hasn't diminished, and neither has Punz's, but Bad finds himself getting easily frustrated with the overload of inbox messages of children asking too many questions at once. He knows Sam's going through the same thing, same goes for Punz, though it still gets to him.

**_"To: SaintswithHalos@kidcodes.com_ **

_**From: bananafox@gmail.com** _

_**hi Mr. N!** _

_**i wanna know hwo tudue redoestone plz"** _

Okay, he can work with this.

He starts typing away on his keyboard, his eyes following what he types out quickly.

**_"To: bananafox@gmail.com_ **

_**From: SaintswithHalos@kidcodes.com** _

_**Hi bananafox,**_

_**Please send this email over to Sam (Samily@kidscodes.com), since he works with redstone specifically and can better help you with that."** _

Part of him wants to add a little _'go to Callahan for spelling lessons while you're at it',_ but sends the email as it is.

Callahan helps manage Sam's Minecraft server along with Bad and Punz, even offering to take over when someone else nearly overworks themself. He's one of the best to have around, not only for management to make sure no one's going against server rules, but also a really, _really_ good person to talk to when work hits hard.

Bad reads over the loading screen as he's brought to his next inbox message. There are.. hundreds in his inbox now.

_Shit._

It takes a couple of seconds for the screen to _properly_ load in, and then he's faced with another message to deal with. So far, it's mostly been answering easy questions about the game Minecraft in general, and the rest have been people getting redirected to either Callahan, Punz, or Sam.

_**"To: SaintswithHalos@kidcodes.com** _

_**From: hjonkhjonk@gmail.com**_

**_Mr. Noveiosoch,"_ **

He's going to ignore that horrible misspelling of his name.

_**"I, as well as many other players on CrunchMC, have a few complaints in regards to the staff and the server."** _

Looking at how long the message is, Bad can only guess that 'few complaints' bit is a blatant lie.

He inhales through his nose, then exhales through his mouth. He wonders if squinting at the words will make them suddenly disappear, so that he won't have to reply. But, sadly, that doesn't work. So instead, he goes through inhaling and exhaling again, and he finally goes through the message carefully.

_**"Whenever people on this forum-"** _

These are direct messages, not the forum page _made_ for things like this.

_**"-talk about experiencing an issue on this server, NONE and I mean NONE of the mods do ANYTHING about it UNTIL they get hate messages (well deserved by the way)."** _

Bad's really not taking a liking to this person with the more he has to force himself to read.

_**"Let's start with Punz."** _

_Ooh boy._

_**"He's one of the most frequent mods on this server, YET he doesn't help when we put our bugs and problems into the chat while he's online.** _

_**He's clearly slacking off, wanting to stay away from these problems and make us THINK it's not his fault, when we all know he should be doing better and SHOULD actually be working his ass off.** _

_**BUT NO. What's he do?** _

_**He sits still, MAYBE AFK, and LITERALLY does NOTHING but fly around the map during events (which are planned UNFAIRLY 24/7) while us players have to sit and wait for some ACTUAL help from the OWNER when the MODS should be helping and doing their DAMN jobs right!"** _

Bad fixes the glasses threatening to tilt off his nose, eyes holding a tiny flame in them from the.. rant? Complaint? He doesn't even know what the hell he's reading right now. He's internally grateful he's the one to receive this, and not his friends.

_**"NEXT is the MUTE."** _

That flare in his eyes grows with each threat he reads about Callahan in the next few paragraphs. The words 'mute bitch' nearly miss his attention until he rereads that part again, biting the inside of his cheek. What the fuck is up with this person?

Shaking his head and slowly scrolling to read the rest, not even _daring_ to see what complaints this person has on Sam, he gets to the part about himself.

_**"BadBoyHalo (now I see why you call yourself"BAD", it suits you) already had a trashy ass server (MunchyMC) and SOMEHOW someone, guessing Sam, thought it's a good idea to make this idiot (YOU) a moderator."** _

He knows Sam trusts him, as well as the other moderators, enough to have him as staff for his server. They've been friends for years, and they've been helping each other improve their skills in Minecraft as well as gently nudging each other out of their comfort zones. They've been a tight-knit little group since their separation from the.. what's it called? Dream SMP, he thinks, sounds right.

_**"He's so fucking sensitive, like some of the other staff members, and it's REALLY getting on EVERYONE'S nerves."** _

Bad doesn't consider himself sensitive.

Back then, he was deemed by nearly _everyone_ as the guy who's "wholesome" and "doesn't swear". People really only knew him because of him appearing in popular people's videos, not because they genuinely liked him or his content, and he knows that now. He doesn't know when it started, maybe with the memes and insults he's received in way too many of his streams on YouTube and by former friends, but he's drawn himself away from those titles.

Nowadays, since a few years actually, he's been improving himself since he stopped streaming and uploading.

Punz was the first to bring up how Bad can get all riled up while somehow maintaining a cool posture. He also mentions how emotional he gets when things go out of hand, like how he has gone through a couple of breakdowns from being mentally and emotionally unable to handle certain things. Because of Punz's advice, or what he claimed was advice, Bad keeps those emotions tucked in a tiny file in his mind. No more breakdowns, he promises himself, and no more emotional distress.

Sam's second to give his advice to Bad. He let him know his input's always important, no matter if it makes sense in the moment or some other time, and no matter if it's something minor or large. _"Everyone's words means something, whether they know it or not,"_ are the words Bad remembers him saying. He lets people, mostly his close friends, know they can come to him and he will listen, even if he doesn't really get what they're trying to tell him. He's not the best at advice himself, but that doesn't mean he won't listen. He'll let people know their words mean something.

Callahan's the last to throw in his two-cents. While no one has heard him speak, something the staff's already very comfortable with already for the years they have worked alongside him, his messages can whirl up a storm of communication when it hits the right people. Bad recalls the younger man telling him to let his actions speak for him, especially if he has no words to say. He got confused and thought the man meant sign language, though he quickly picked up Callahan meant more along the lines of gestures, like flipping someone off or holding someone close.

He tries not to think too much about that last part.

And now that he's back on track, or he thinks he is anyway, his eyes train on his bright laptop screen once more. He's sure he can deal with this just fine, even if he doesn't deal with complaints of _this_ nature very often. It's better him than anyone else, though.

_**"To: hjonkhjonk@gmail.com** _

_**From: SaintswithHalos@kidcodes.com** _

_**Well hello there, hjonkhjonk! :)** _

_**As much as I'd like to hear you use your linguistic skills to talk utter bull about me and the rest of the staff-"** _

Bad chews on his bottom lip, groaning as he deletes everything under his greeting.

_**"While hearing you talk crap-"** _

_Delete._

_**"That's a lot of big talk coming from-"** _

_Delete._

_**"You sound like a-"** _

_No, no, no! Delete._

He hits his fist against the table and bites back every urge to yell out his frustrations. He's not about to let some asshole think they have some kind of power over him or the rest of the staff, but he also shouldn't let himself get fired in the process. Even though he's _sure_ Sam would understand his feelings about this particular message if he tells him, which he doesn't plan on doing anytime soon. Just to save his friend the trouble.

He's about to try again until he feels something grab at his ankle, causing him to look down at the fluffy dog trying to snatch his sock away with her tiny teeth.

Bad gives the message one last read before drafting his response, slamming the laptop shut, and getting out of the chair. All while making sure he doesn't accidentally send Lucy, his pet, flying with a kick. He's thankful when she retreats to lay down beside her leash, her paws out in front of her like a superhero pose. Well, she'll always be one to him.

"You wanna go out, Lucy-Loo?"

He puts on his baby-talk voice, giving a half-smile to the ball of fluff waving her tail while staring up at him. She's not too grown now, still able to perfectly fit in his arms if he were to carry her, but she is definitely bigger by some inches at the very least.

Then he remembers how he said he would meet Mega, an old-now-new friend he bumped into hours prior, again at the park at some point.

And hey, what better time than to show up way earlier than him saying he'd meet up in an hour from now?

"We're gonna go meet Mega and his Chihuahua again, okay Lucy?" he asks, knowing he won't really get an answer other than Lucy's yips of excitement. She's starting to get up once Bad snaps her leash to her collar, petting her between the ears to signal they're pretty much ready for a walk. And by god, he thinks he'll break his mouth from smiling if he has to watch Lucy happily trot up to the door too many times.

Bad takes a little bit of time to slip into the pair of shoes he deems fit for walking and running, wiggling each foot in place until they feel good enough to move around in. Then, he picks up Lucy's leash and has one hand on the door, rechecking himself with one long glance.

He's wearing a dark red shirt with a pocket on his upper chest, small enough to slip his glasses there if he really wants to, and he has on a pair of comfortably tight jeans. He pretty much looks good enough to go to the park, especially to go meet up with Mega for a second time.

"Okay Lucy-Loo, let's see if we can beat Mega-"

He isn't allowed another word when they're outside the house and Lucy's energetically leading Bad in the direction he can only recognize as the path to the park.

~~~

"Mega!"

"Oh hey, Darryl!"

Bad's still surprised to have the opportunity to see his friend's face after years of, well, _not_ seeing it or even _hearing_ his voice. Hell, seeing the younger man in a green hoodie, black pants, and white socks with sandals makes it feel so surreal to him.

He jogs up to the bench Mega's sitting on, loosening his grip on Lucy's leash carefully as she goes to nudge her nose against the Chihuahua's hind legs. He coos softly at the duo, who only have each other's attentions as they mess with each other in circles.

"What brings you to America?" Bad asks, wondering if that's the right way to say it. By the chuckle that gets out of his new friend, he assumes it's fine.

"I came to surprise another friend of mine," Mega replies easily, glancing at the dogs to make sure they hadn't tried to sneak off. Then, his eyes are back on Bad. "What brings _you_ here, Darryl? Thought you liked Florida."

"I've always wanted to come here," he answers. He doesn't know how long he's wanted to visit this place, really, and he shrugs it off to deem as not important enough to remember. His memory's fairly sharp, so if he can't remember the reason, then it's clear it doesn't matter. He's here, and that's all he needs to know. "Who'd you want to surprise, if I'm allowed to ask?"

Mega chuckles, nodding slowly. "You'll never guess-"

"Bad!"

Bad tenses when he feels something latch onto his side, slowly turning his head to see it's a man holding him so tight.

The man has a messy head of blue hair that smells oddly like many fruits mixed into one scent, a teal hoodie that feels incredibly soft against his skin, and he notices the nonexisting drawstrings of the man's dark sweatpants as well as the duck-decorated socks tucked in yellow sandals. Bad wants to point them out in a teasing manner, but because this guy has been hugging half of him for the past minutes or so, he just puts his hand on the other's shoulder to try and push him back.

"Can you.. get off?" he asks. He doesn't know why he sounds unsure. He's not the best with hugs, _especially_ from strangers, so why'd he wait a little too long to finally say something? And _why_ does it sound more like a question than a demand?

Bad lets out a sigh of relief when the guy complies, moving off of him and-

"Hi, Lucy! Hi, Mega!"

The man's shaking Mega's hand excitedly now, wearing a stupidly wide grin after greeting Bad's dog with a full-hearted smile.

Bad's about to say something before he shuts his mouth at the other's next words.

"Hi, Bad."

Mega takes the chance to speak first, roughly yanking on the man's arm to get his attention. "Darryl, this is the friend I was trying to tell you about. _Friend_ , introduce yourself to Darryl."

_Oh dear fuck, there's that stupid grin again._

"Hi!" the man yells a little too loudly, reminding Bad why he tends to avoid socializing. "My name's Zak, but you know me as Skeppy way better."

_Silence._

No one says anything for what feels like hours.

Mega's eyes are darting between the two of them before he announces that his dog needs to do their business somewhere real quick, leaving Bad and "Skeppy" to stand and stare at each other in even more awkward silence. The bright expression the man's wearing is starting to piss Bad off.

"Look, Zak, I know you're one of Mega's friends apparently, but I only just met him some time ago, alright? I'm not familiar with him _or_ you."

"That's okay!" Skeppy says quickly, sitting on the bench and easily taking Mega's previous spot. Bad makes sure to scoot a little away from him, keeping some space between the two of them. "I don't mind getting to know you all over again, Bad, I swear it. Getting to know you the first time was pretty awesome, and I _know_ it'll be the same now."

Bad scoffs at that. He can't tell if he's more pissed at Mega for not warning him about this weird person, or if he's more pissed at himself for not staying home.

"I only came here to talk with Mega, not to make friends."

The light in the other's eyes falls into a shaded expression, and his smile's less enthusiastic than seconds prior.

"You.. don't consider me a friend?"

"Dude," Bad huffs, "I don't even _know_ who the hell you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave some kudos, some comments, maybe hit that pretty subscribe button too!  
> it's free, and you can always unsubscribe!
> 
> this is so far one of my favorite chapters to write, considering the extra thoughts needed to make words make sense here, and because I'm working with a few characters I don't write that often literate-styled! SO POGCHAMP ON THE POGRESS!
> 
> random quote of the day:  
> "he's still skeppy" -badboyhalo


	5. Yeehaw, Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sapnap's struggling to keep up with the weather.
> 
> It's hard when you're no longer in a state that's hot 24/7.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be focused on Sapnap's POV!

As a 19 year old, things felt fine within the world of social media as a YouTuber and Twitch streamer.

And now, having two months until he turns 29, Sapnap's come to the conclusion he wants nothing to do with _any of it_.

He used to try and match up to old friends' schedules on YouTube, pushing out at least two videos (some pre-recorded from previous times) each month to up his popularity without being known for collaborating with friends. He appreciated the acknowledgement he received, but it was never as much as the kinds of acknowledgement his friends got. It was, as he looked at it and was even _told_ about it, much less.

But still, he gave it his all and uploaded as often as he could, sometimes joking about gaining more subscribers than a few friends due to them having more than him. He appreciated each and every person who subscribed to him, who liked his Twitter posts, who liked his videos and those who left sweet little messages in comment sections about how much his content made them happy.

Twitch was a very nice platform until people started poking fun at his appearance every time he played Minecraft with his facecam on. That's why he went to YouTube, as his last resort to keep his content going, until all of his interest fell in shambles because the comments shoved him over an edge of lava.

He finished college and graduated with a degree in Computer Science, which is something he holds proudly as one of his largest achievements. From that point on until a few years back, he searched through endless piles of newspapers for jobs to snatch.

Okay, okay. _Maybe_ he researched online and looked through _one_ newspaper, but that's not the point.

Now, he's saddled in with a job as a designer for video games.

It started off with him trying to see how far his artistic abilities go, which has definitely improved over the years that have passed from previous stickman drawings, and then it ascended into reaching for more of a creative surface that's open to _any_ form of creative input.

He's spent the past few months working with a young man, only about two years younger than him, on a game called 'Musical Spirits'.

It's an online one so far, and the young man (who Sapnap's been told to call Mr. Smith) is the video game developer for it. Sapnap hasn't really talked to the other staff members, only discussing with Mr. Smith enough for them to have frequent conversations over text messages.

He's sure that's fine, though; he doesn't have that much of an interest to socialize with his co-workers.

At the moment, Sapnap's raiding his mini-fridge for literally anything that'll wake him the hell up.

There's a load of butter on the first shelf on the door, a few energy drinks, one whole shelf dedicated to pork and other meats, and the entirety of the bottom and middle shelves are either _more_ butter or water bottles.

His roommate, Alex, is the only reasonable explanation he can think of for why there's so much butter in their mini-fridge.

Alex, as Sapnap learned upon their first day meeting, comes from Mexico. He speaks Spanish extremely well, teasing the other man for mispronouncing a couple of words. In return, Sapnap teaches his new friend how to speak a couple of words in Greek, a language he's still learning over text messages and calls with his stepmom. They click pretty well, even while pushing each other over their boundaries.

He also learns that Alex likes being called affectionate names; 'doll', 'honeybunch', and 'mi novia' are the ones he's brought up, saying a past friend he was close to used them for him. So, being as good of a friend as he can be, Sapnap tries out each name for Alex, switching between each one for different scenarios. From using 'doll' as casual as he uses 'dude' to calling him 'honeybunch' during mealtimes and then 'mi novia' (which he had to Google himself after Alex's claims that it means 'my homie') when they share an intimate moment together.

This guy brings out the best in the otherwise stubborn and hot-headed man, and Sapnap doesn't regret getting the chance to share his apartment space with his friend.

"PANDAS!"

Maybe he spoke too soon.

Sapnap's laying in bed; black socks on, his hair is typical bedhead, and he's wrapped in a blanket burrito while packing heat in the oversized, blue sweatshirt he _may_ have stolen from his roommate's closet. In his defense, it makes him warm, and Alex snatches from _him_ just as many times, so it is only fair for him to return the favor.

When he props his head up against the headboard, melting more against his pillows (one of which he stole from his roommate some time ago), he sees an out-of-breath roommate stumbling into the doorway to Sapnap's room.

Alex's hair is dark enough to blend into the night sky; the beanie with 'LAFD' on it covers nearly all of his head, but it leaves the sweep of his forehead so that he has hair peeking out from underneath. Sapnap never comments on that directly, moreso making fun of his 'dumbass beanie' - this gets him either a shoe or a pillow to the face instantly.

"I NEED YOU TO-"

"Are you wearing my hoodie?"

Alex looks himself up and down, eyeing the white hoodie with a black smiley face in the middle that most definitely belongs (or belonged, Sapnap assumes) to the other man. He's in a pair of stretchy shorts; they're regular black pants, except Alex claims they're shorts simply because he can roll up the bottoms to his knees. Sapnap wholeheartedly disagrees, but he chooses not to comment about that. He's too tired for an argument this early.

Jokes on him, Alex is never too tired for that.

"That's- Okay, listen, that's not important right now-"

"Are you wearing my hoodie; yes or no?" Sapnap asks again.

Alex crosses his arms, finally catching his breath as he leans against the doorway, his eyes sending some sort of curse in Sapnap's direction.

"Finders keepers, losers suck."

"That's not how the saying goes."

A grumble of a chuckle slips out of Sapnap's throat, even while he's fully aware of the death stare piercing into his tired eyes.

"LISTEN!" Alex complains, aggressively stomping his foot on the ground to prove a point. "I need you to meet someone at the mall for me."

Oh, that's new.

Sapnap doesn't make any move to unwrap from his blanket burrito, only burying his cheek against the pillow his head is on. "Is it your imaginary partner?"

The one time Alex brought back a girlfriend to the apartment made him realize that's something he should never do again. Her name was Clarissa, if Sapnap remembers right, and she seemed like a really smart, charming woman that matched Alex's humor. It didn't work out when she and Sapnap met; they got into a bitter argument over who 'deserves Alex's attention more', and things escalated until Alex realized things just weren't going to end well with her. From that point on, Alex talks to his roommate about people coming over or if he has his eyes on someone, just so they don't end up with that dumb mistake again.

"No, pendejo," Alex scoffs, but Sapnap can see him smiling from several feet away. He decides not to comment on being called 'stupid' in Spanish. "There's a new game in Gamestop called 'The Reckless', and I _really, really want it_. I follow their Twitter-"

"You follow Gamestop's Twitter?"

"-and they are surely running out, so _please_ can you go get the game for me?"

Sapnap's about to reply before his phone rings. He takes a little bit of time to shuffle his arm out of his blanket wrap, reaching onto his bedside table to grab his phone, squinting at the blurry words (or numbers, he can't tell) on the screen before pressing the green button and holding it to his ear.

"Y'ello?" It doesn't register how gruff he sounds, and frankly, he doesn't really care.

"Pandas!"

_Why is this person's voice so unnecessarily loud?_

"I am _so_ glad to hear from you again! I, uh, haven't talked to George yet-"

_Who is this person talking about?_

"-but I wanted to see if you were up first. And you are!"

He feels tired, but sure, he technically did answer the call.

"Pan-"

When Sapnap cuts him off with a huff, his voice is all muffled; the phone picks it up anyway.

"Who's this?" he grumbles out.

"It's Clay, Pandas."

_Who the hell...?_

"Who?" he asks.

" _Clay_ ," the stranger repeats. "DreamWasTaken? Dream? Manhunt? Do any of those ring a bell to you?"

"Dream?" Sapnap's still feeling groggy and exhausted, his throat needing to be cleared out at least thrice. But realization hits him and suddenly he nearly chokes on his spit, sitting up with the blanket only wrapped around his body, earning a suspicious stare from his roommate. "DREAM!"

"Yes, Sap, it's me." He can almost hear the smile in the other's voice, and he definitely can hear him chuckle. "Are- Are you still in Texas? Still being a barking cowboy over there?"

He gulps down the urge to automatically bark in response. He's not even sure _why_ that's an instinctual thing, but it is, and he's already accepted that.

"I moved, actually."

It's a sentence that comes off all confident and proud. And to be honest, it does make him feel happy that he isn't cooped up in Texas for forever, _especially_ after so long of living there. Plus, he wouldn't've met Alex otherwise.

While he still needs time to _really_ get used to Florida's antics of surprise weather, not to mention the news articles he's seen about Floridians outrunning hurricanes and Floridians getting money after a weird mix-up with a ridiculously identical robber.

Many surprising things happen in Texas on a daily basis, but he doesn't think he's seen anything as shocking as what goes on in the state of Florida.

"Ooh, did you?" Sapnap reads that tone with familiarity, grinning a little. "Perhaps you're staying with Karl in North Carol?"

_Smug bastard._

"I _knew_ you'd say that, dude!" he whines.

It's worth it to hear that stupidly intoxicating wheeze, one he didn't think the guy still had the voice for.

"As much as I miss my Karly-Warly," his voice pitches higher by the end of his sentence, making himself giggle. It doesn't help when that elicits a contagious stream of laughter out of the man. He shakes his head and resumes speaking, ignoring Alex's attempts at snapping his fingers for his attention. "I did _not_ , in fact, move to North Carol. Ooh, wait! How 'bout this? We guess where each other are, and- and there's like a _prize_."

Competitions have always been Sapnap's thing, especially with Dream when they were younger and friends.

"Okay.."

After a moment of silence, he continues.

"If I guess where you are, you owe me $500."

"Pandas."

Sapnap ignores what he assumes is a protest, not wanting the man to back out anytime soon.

"And if you guess where I am, I'll give you $50."

"Only $50?" Dream asks, incredulous. "Why do I have to pay more?"

"You're rich!" Sapnap exclaims, as if that's blatantly obvious.

"..Uh huh," Dream sounds almost doubtful, but Sapnap pays no mind to it as the man continues. "Sure, and what happens if we're both wrong? Or if we're both right?"

Silence.

"Sap?"

_Call has been disconnected._

"Guess 'm goin' to Gamestop, doll," Sapnap finally answers, setting his phone back on the bedside table. and managing to fall stomach-down out of bed, still wrapped securely in his blanket.

Alex lets out a loud laugh, grinning at his fallen friend. "Need help?"

All Sapnap does is groan loudly in response, managing to flip his roommate off before his arm falls flat onto his side.

~~~

Sapnap looks at each store he walks by, briefly glancing over a sweets shop that raises his cravings for candy. He manages to resist the urge for cavities, though, and walks past it while keeping his eyes peeled for Gamestop.

He spots it after passing Hot Topic and grins, proud of himself for not staying lost for more than half an hour. No one needs to know that he easily got lost in such a big building, though. That's top secret information.

His eyes carry a light in them when he enters the store, feeling like a kid going into a game store for something like Minecraft all over again. Just in this case, the store's in Florida, not in Texas. And he's been to Texas' mall, which is definitely way bigger than this mall alone. Maybe twice its size, if he wanted to estimate.

"Oh, fuck-"

Because he's not paying attention, he bumps shoulders with a tall-looking guy. He's got his hair in a ponytail, looking neater than how Sapnap leaves his own hair messy and, you know, not up. He's wearing sweatpants and a green hoodie that has a black smile on the front of it.

"Oh, fuck, um-" Sapnap stammers, lining himself up with the way the other man's facing towards him, almost not noticing the young girl beside him who's paying more attention to playing some game on the demo screen. "I'm so, _so_ sorry, man. I woke up, like, an hour ago, okay? My sleep schedule eats itself daily, so I'm sort of out of awareness skills and-"

"Sapnap?"

_Holy shit, this stranger in Gamestop knows his name. Do all Floridians have a mind reading power or something? Is the Floridian government going to target him for being a person from Texas?_

"...I knew undercover cops were a thing, but I didn't think they'd wear clothes like mine," Sapnap replies, moving the front of his hoodie away from practically choking his neck. "Why are you wearing a hoodie like mine, by the way? That's not really professional for a government worker."

That's probably the _opposite_ of what you say to government officials, right?

He's got a lot to learn about Florida.

The man steps forward to close the gap between them, leaning down enough for his hot breath to warm Sapnap's ear. Even his deep voice is intimidating.

"We wear these to track people down in a game of manhunt."

Sapnap steps back almost immediately, his hands up in some weak form of defense. "Listen, man, I just came here to get a game for my roommate, okay? I swear I won't tell anyone anything about this.. weird Floridian thing you've got going on in the government, okay? I _swear_ I won't tell anyone."

The man seems to study Sapnap's movements for just a bit, his gaze more on the hoodie he's wearing than his actual face.

Sapnap instinctively slouches as he stands and crosses his arms, but there's still a hint of fear in his eyes. Fearing that he's upset some.. government agent, or something like that. He doesn't want to somehow screw things up just by _bumping the guy's shoulder_.

"You don't recognize me, do you?"

_Huh?_

"What?" Sapnap asks, eyes flicking in a concentrated focus on the other's eyes. _Is this a prank Alex set up for him? No wonder he insisted on Sapnap coming to this place so badly.._

"Sap, dude," the man chuckles, wearing a stupidly wide grin on his face. "I'm _Clay_."

_Clay..?_

Wait.

Sapnap grabs a fistful of the taller man's hoodie, but there's no ill-intent behind his tone or even his hardened expression. He just feels utterly betrayed, that's all.

"You fuckin' scared me, bitch!" The last part comes out in a whisper, not wanting to make a ruckus in the middle of a literal store. He lets go before it becomes apparent he _really_ wants to strike his friend in the jaw. "Why would you _do_ that? Oh my _god_."

"It was really funny!" Dream replies in defense, grinning even wider now. He's too smug for his own good, and Sapnap wishes he could do something about it.

"I guess the challenge's pretty useless, huh?" Sapnap asks, but he knows it's rhetorical. He never really thought that Dream would actually give him real money either way, so he doesn't feel disappointed by the fact the challenge is over.

"You came here to buy something, didn't you?" Dream questions, already pulling out his handful of cash.

_The bastard's flaunting his money, and honestly, Sapnap would probably do the same._

"Well, yeah, but you don't-"

"I'll pay for it for you. I scared you, so I should be doing you a favor, you know?"

"Well-"

Dream whispers something to the teenager he was talking to before, then he takes Sapnap's hand in his. "Lead me to whatever you want to buy, and I'll pay for it."

Sapnap blinks a few times before nodding hesitantly, carefully guiding his friend by the gaming shelves to search for 'The Reckless'. If Alex is lying to him about the game's existence, he might have to lock him out of the apartment for at least a day.

But hey, at least he bumped into an old face, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave some kudos, some comments, maybe hit that pretty subscribe button too!  
> it's free, and you can always unsubscribe!
> 
> haha painchamp everybody hows its goin :)
> 
> random quote of the day:  
> "I think he definitely cares about me, right?" -sapnap


	6. Ensimismado!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quackity goes outside instead of impatiently waiting at home for his friend.
> 
> What happens when he meets a stranger with something he recognizes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be focused on Quackity's POV!

The coming of a new year used to be one of Quackity's favorites to celebrate.

For (maybe) three or four years, from year 2020 to year 2024, he tweeted a celebratory mini-speech to let his viewers know how thankful he's been to have them around, slipping in Spanish words of endearment when possible and chuckling at the portions of people who have no idea what's being said. He loved celebrating with viewers, even through a screen, because it reminded him there _were_ people out there and it reminded _those people_ that he'd be still around making content as long as he can.

With friends and family in Mexico, he can't compare it to anything more enjoyably chaotic.

Where he lived for a couple years or so, loud music and fireworks would decorate throughout the area to celebrate Año Nuevo; New Year's in Mexico. And instead of celebrating the new year right on December 31st like most people do on other holidays, Año Nuevo's celebrated on January 1st. He can remember how excited people get when they celebrate the new year by going out at midnight with friends and family for dinner, and how _giggly_ young people and elders get from setting off fireworks or dealing with duds.

Quackity's brother's well-known in their family for managing to "fix" duds by yelling _pendejo!_ at them. Quackity has no idea _why_ it seems to work each time (and he chooses not to go by their grandma's logic that swearing makes everything work in life, per their mother's disagreement, no matter how much he wants to believe it), but it works. And setting off fireworks while getting to watch firework shows from neighbors was probably his favorite thing when he celebrated.

Celebrating from 2024 onward is an entirely other playing field.

Drinks clinked in the voice chat of the Dream SMP Discord between all legal adults, excluding Quackity who, despite being past 18 (legal drinking age in Mexico) and having "adult juice" in front of audiences before, wanted to stay sober for his Minecraft marriage with Karl and Sapnap on the SMP server. They'd been engaged for.. _some time,_ so what's a better time than Año Nuevo to _finally_ marry the two loving dumbasses?

They even managed to stay in a different voice channel, leaving Tommy and Dream in the main one, so they could scream their hearts out to One Direction songs per Karl's choice for "marriage party music". Sapnap snuck in a few requests of Cardi B's WAP, all while happily attacking his _poor, poor husband_ with a netherite sword, going as far as to break the _one_ bed Quackity needed to keep from spawning so far away from the karaoke set-up.

Quackity knows it must've been a longass time since everyone got together for, well, anything on the SMP. He's pretty sure it's dead by now, and so is the Discord!

Everyone moved on to get jobs, settle down maybe, grief losses and welcome new family members and all that. Quackity said his goodbyes to as many of his old friends as he could; it hurt just as much saying goodbye to his in-game husbands.

_"But we just got married! What the honk, man!" Karl giggles, trying his darn hardest not to break the serious atmosphere. He moves and jumps around in-game, punching the air until he starts a playful fight with husband Sapnap, who's giggling and blessing what would have been a solemn situation._

_"It was never meant to be!" Sapnap exclaimed in a terribly low British accent, swinging one more hit that obliterates husband Karl straight away. He collects what little items Karl had on him before quickly discarding them from his inventory as soon as Karl returns, whining loudly at his dear partner._

_Quackity snorts a chuckle and watches his husbands knock each other around, wondering what events in his life blessed him with these adoring idiots._

_"It was never.. meant to.. be," Karl says back in his own very posh British accent. He squeals when he dies from another swing by Sapnap, sighing in relief when he spawns close by. He comes back to retrieve his items all over again, complaining when Sapnap manages to run off with a netherite hoe. "Give me my hoe back, Sapnap!"_

_"Quackity's already here though!"_

Without his Minecraft husbands by his side and him not by their sides, he lives in a house in Florida.

From his many trips back and forth between Mexico and California, he bumped into Punz and Puffy more than a few times. They exchanged phone numbers before going their separate ways, having caught up in the few months they got to re-know each other.

Punz works as a coder for some guy named Sam for a website called Code For The Kids, an online platform for people (young audiences) to reach any of the admins for questions about coding.

And, Puffy works alongside other LGBTQ+ guides on RainbOwie; a website for people of all ages to communicate to other LGBTQ+ members and ask questions to the guides in regards to their sexuality, gender, pronouns, or anything of the sort.

"PANDAS!" Quackity yells, being as obnoxiously loud as he can when he goes up the stairs to his roommate's room.

Pandas is Quackity's roommate. The two have surprisingly hit it off fine when they both came to the realization the apartment space was meant to be occupied by more than one person. He's from some place in Texas, and Quackity pokes fun at the guy's accent from time to time; somehow made one or two Alabama jokes by accident along the way, but at least Nick's got a sense of humor.

Another good thing coming from this roommate experience is they taught the other how to cook at least one new thing. Quackity showed Pandas how to make dough from copious amounts of leftover flour from who knows what else was made from it; their first attempt ended up in a battle to see who'd be more messy with many, many flour fights.

As for the first time Pandas showed him how to make Adobo, a well-known Filipino dish, out of vinegar, soy sauce, garlic, bay leaves, and black pepper; it ended similar to the pizza making situation. But instead of throwing flour at each other, somehow they thought pouring soy sauce, a rather sticky condiment, would be the best thing to throw instead of _ingredients that likely won't stay on their clothes for more than two weeks._

If anyone asks, it was entirely Pandas' idea.

Speaking of his fellow roommate; when Quackity stumbles into the doorway (neither of them use close their doors often), he works on catching his breath until his eyes land on Pandas. Pandas, dressed in black socks and Quackity's stolen blue sweatshirt (somehow almost hidden within his blanket wrap), looks like he's just woken up, complete with messy bedhead too. He'll need to steal back the sweatshirt later.

Quackity wipes away the sweat from his forehead with his arm, making sure he doesn't push up his beanie (that Pandas ever-so lovingly makes fun of many times). He inhales sharply, believing he's caught his breath, and speaks again, still as loud as seconds prior.

"I NEED YOU TO-"

"Are you wearing my hoodie?" Pandas asks.

Quackity blinks a few times before eyeing what exactly he's wearing; a white hoodie that has a black smiley face in the center, a pair of black pants (booty-shorts, he likes to claim, despite Pandas telling him "rolling up the rims doesn't make them booty-shorts, dumbass"). The Texan man steals from him all the time, so who's he to say anything about what _he's_ wearing?

"That's-" Quackity pauses to take a breath, which sounds more like a huff. "Okay, listen, that's not important right now-"

"Are you wearing my hoodie; yes or no?"

This man doesn't deserve the warm sweatshirt he stole off Quackity; no matter how comfortable he looks in it. Crossing his arms and sending a death glare at his roommate, he answers. "Finders keepers, losers suck."

A low, tired chuckle bubbles out of Pandas' throat when he talks again. "That's not how the saying goes."

Well, it is now.

"LISTEN!" Quackity shouts, hitting his foot on the ground. It's apparently enough for Pandas to _actually_ be quiet and listen. "I need you to meet someone at the mall for me."

Pandas shifts around in his blanket wrap to rest his cheek against his pillow (which Quackity _knows_ is also something stolen from his room; this guy's a thief). "Is it your imaginary partner?"

Quackity opens his mouth to tell Pandas to screw off, but he gets what he means right off the bat. The last having-a-girlfriend attempt didn't go too well when she, an artist named Amelia (who loved to draw oddly realistic animals; sometimes he'd request to see how she draws one animal compared to another just for the hell of it), picked a really dumb fight with his roommate; "who deserves his attention more?" being the topic at hand.

Now, if Quackity plans on bringing people over (lovers or not), he warns Pandas ahead of time so both can prepare in case anything like that happens again. Quackity doesn't think it will, but he's more than willing to defend his friend again if needed.

"No, pendejo," he scoffs, carrying no heat behind his words. His smile gives it away anyway. "There's a new game in Gamestop called 'The Reckless', and I _really, really want it_. I follow their Twitter-"

Pandas cuts him off, raising an eyebrow at him. "You follow Gamestop's Twitter?"

_How else am I able to catch up on the newest games without stepping foot in the outside world?_ He wants to say, but his eyes flick to the bedside table a few seconds after Nick's phone rings terribly loud. The ringtone is set to a One Direction song, particularly 'What Makes You Beautiful?' per Quackity's request just to hear it play, knowing full well how often his friend gets phone calls for work.

"Y'ello?" Pandas answers, holding the phone up to his ear.

Quackity can't help but tune the conversation out; it's not like it's his business anyway, even if he _is_ a bit curious who his roommate's talking to.

He thinks it's probably Mr. Smith; the guy keeps conversations short and sweet, so maybe he's calling to ask Pandas' progress on the game he's meant to design for. It could even be Punz, who also codes for his job under Sam's supervision. Maybe he wants help with something that involves coding; Quackity's not too big on coding himself, but it does interest him fairly easily to watch over his friend's shoulder, watching him type in one piece of code to do _so much_ on the screen and many pieces of code only to do _one_ thing.

It looks pretty fucking superb if you ask him.

"As much as I miss my Karly-Warly..." is all Quackity hears when he snaps back to reality. It takes his brain some minutes to register Pandas' next couple of words. "I did _not_ , in fact, move to North Carol..."

Okay. Who in the _world_ is "Karly-Warly", and what do they have to do with Pandas and whoever he's talking to on the phone? And he's almost positive no one says "North Carol" when they're talking about North Carolina. Definitely not, right? Maybe that's just a _Pandas_ thing.

After his attempts to snap his fingers and grab Pandas' attention fail, Quackity rolls his eyes and starts swearing under his breath. It's the most he can do when his roommate's flat-out ignoring him to get all giddy over some phone call. Maybe Pandas' got a secret lover he's hiding.

"Esto se está comiendo mi última célula cerebral, hijo de puta..."

Pandas' eyes meet Quackity's when he sets his phone down on the table by his bed, flashing a stupidly wide grin at him. "Guess 'm goin' to Gamestop, doll," he hums. Quackity's about to say something until Pandas gracelessly falls out of bed and his stomach makes contact with the floor. It's funny how he's still wrapped in his blanket, too.

Quackity lets a couple of loud laughs slip through, all while grinning at his poor, poor friend. _What a dumbass._

"Need help?" he asks innocently, laughing harder when all he gets in response is a half-hearted flip-of-the-finger that follows a loud groan of annoyance.

_Poor, poor dumbass indeed._

~~~

It's been three hours since Pandas left to Gamestop.

Quackity feels like he's going to become a literal corpse by the time his roommate gets home; Pandas never takes this long to buy _one_ thing, especially when he's going to one store. He's usually the one complaining about how long it takes for the ravenhead to come back from running errands or something, so at least now Quackity's on the other end of the stick. He believes he has all rights to complain right back as _soon_ as Pandas gets back.

. . .

Okay, there's no way he's going to wait inside for years. He needs to do at least something while he waits.

~~~

"This is great," Quackity tells himself for the sixteenth time under the hour. He's been standing awkwardly in front of the apartment building for almost an hour now; he knows he shouldn't just stay inside with nothing to do, so that's why he's outside. He just doesn't have a single idea what to do now.

Until he hears guitar strums and someone singing.

_"If you really want to fall in love...~"_

He takes a quick second to glance around before he begins walking towards the voice he swears he can hear some blocks away. He _knows_ guitar strums when he hears them, and the ones he's listening to sound so, so familiar somehow. He really hopes he's not going crazy.

_"If you really want to fall in...~"_ the mysterious person continues. Their voice isn't rough at all and fits snugly to the melody they are playing along to, though it's somewhere between the fine lines of loud and soft. It's enough to be heard from the front of the apartment, yet it's soft enough for them to slip into a quiet melody if they wanted. _"Three days tied to the track, one left with no love~."_

Quackity can tell the strums are careful, steady, and planned out. This person's definitely got some load of experience in the music field that they're carrying into their music, and honestly? Well, Quackity can appreciate some good talent like this. The song starts off light and sweet, _a love song_ being fairly obvious just from the lyrics, and the strums pick up a fast pace as well as the person's singing when Quackity begins to get close.

_"If I stayed alone, it was curtains when your love broke through! Oo-oo-oo!"_ they sing, and it sounds almost bitter this time in comparison to the sweeter start of the song. Maybe this is a breakup song, or the person's singing about a failed relationship or even lost love.

Quackity hopes it's just their choice of music and not something that's tragically happened to them.

When he turns the corner, he thanks his mere curiosity for leading him to the source of music; a brunette man's sitting on a box with a guitar in his hands, strumming at a quick pace for an instrumental break (considering he has stopped singing; or maybe he hasn't reached this point yet). He's dressed in cuffed jeans, black dress shoes, a white dress shirt tucked into his dark dress pants, and a pair of blue glasses with light blue lens sit firmly on his nose.

In short, the guy looks fancy as fuck.

_And this fancy fuck's guitar has initials 'HQ' on it._

Quackity knows he doesn't look fancy in his smiley hoodie, but hey. Hoodies fucking rock all occasions and he'll go down with that statement.

"Hola!" he greets with a friendly smile, trying not to scare the guy off. He looks like he has the strength to damage a kneecap or two; then again, so does Quackity. He puts his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them, and stops in front of the box-sitting guitarist. "I heard your music when I left my home, so I wanted to come see the cool guitar-singer behind it."

_Smooth._

"Hi?" the guy responds, smiling awkwardly at Quackity. He rests one hand under the guitar and the other on top of it, making sure he doesn't drop it since he isn't wearing any straps with it. "You- uh, you came because you heard me playing? And- and singing?"

_Be nice and smile, Alex. Don't scare the shit out of this guy._

He nods after a moment to process what was just said to him. He likes the sort of pop-styled music the man played; it went from sweet to bitter at a semi-sudden pace, which might not fit most people's tastes, but Quackity enjoys it quite a lot. "You're really good, hombre!" he praises, followed by a half-chuckle that he slightly wishes he had held back.

But it makes the stranger smile more comfortably, giggling in return. Quackity deems this a win for socialization points; suck it, Nick!

"I'm, uh, Alex, by the way," he adds, holding his hand out for the man to shake. _Shaking people's hands isn't outdated, right? Hopefully not._

He sighs in relief when the man takes his hand in his own, shaking it eagerly with a bright grin on his face. It's enough to make Quackity smile just as wide.

"Hi Alex," the man replies with a giggle. It's almost surprising how different his laugh is compared to the bittersweet music he plays. When he takes his hand back to hold the guitar steadily in his lap, he notices Quackity staring at him; right in the eyes. So, he tilts his head with another giggle, confused. "What'cha looking at, Alex?"

_Oh shit I didn't even say anything. Fuck._

"You never told me your name you know."

_Back in the smooth game again. You got this. Probably._

The stranger thinks for some seconds before smiling at Quackity again. "People call me Valentine," he answers. "You know, because I tend to play love songs a lot."

Quackity nods, understanding immediately. "Yeah-"

He's cut off from trying to congratulate and praise the other man's singing some more; a chestnut-haired man comes up to the two of them, mostly focused on Valentine, and he looks _way_ more casual than the singer does (and appears much taller, too). He's dressed in jeans, brown boots, sunglasses sitting on his head, and his shirt is sleeveless and white with pink hearts decorating all over in squiggly handwriting.

"Hey-" the man gives a quick glance to Quackity, then he's back on Valentine. "-Val! Who are you talking to here?" he asks when he stops walking, rolling back his shoulders to relax them.

"His name's Alex," Valentine says, flashing a grin at Quackity, who awkwardly smiles back. He looks back to the taller man and stands up from the box, carefully handing the guitar into the arms of the new stranger. "He heard me play a song and liked it, so we talked for a bit."

The stranger takes Quackity's hand in both of his and shakes it fast, smiling kindly after he lets go. "It's nice to meet you, Alex. I'm well-known for the name Brute, and I'm a good friend of Valentine's."

_Maybe they're in a band together or something._

Quackity shakes the jitters out of his hand after the handshake, shoving his hands in his pockets like before. These people seem really nice for strangers; he hopes he gets to meet them again soon. "You too, Brute. I think I'm actually gonna go ahead and get some comida. I haven't really had anything when I left home."

Both men nod understandingly, sharing a brief look that Quackity, for the life of him, can't figure out how to read. He just hopes they're not planning on hitting him over the head with the guitar or anything movie-style like that.

_Hold on._

"Uh, before I go, what-"

"What does 'comida' mean?" Valentine asks, completely cutting off Quackity from asking his own question.

"..It means food in Spanish," he answers truthfully. "About your guitar, though, what do those initials on it mean?" Quackity questions and gestures to the 'HQ' initials carved on the lower body of the guitar. He knows exactly what they mean, having carved them years ago himself before eventually giving it away to a relative at the time. He hopes this guy's a _real_ good friend or something of that relative, or they're going to have a problem.

Valentine looks at the initials and so does Brute, who only shrugs. "No idea, honestly. The woman who I got it from said it came from a cousin, I'm pretty sure."

_Okay, that checks out. Or he's really good at guessing._

"Cool, cool." Quackity fixes the hoodie by dusting off absolutely nothing from it. He should get going now; hopefully he finds Nick so he can tell him about this nice-looking fucker that's got his guitar. "I'm gonna go now. See ya later?" He doesn't mean for it to come out like a question, but it does. He's not sure if he's even going to see these guys again.

Valentine takes his hand and shakes it, doing so in a slower manner than the first time. When he pulls away, there's a white slip of paper in his hands. He finishes saying goodbyes to the men before walking away from the area, thinking about going to a diner or shop for some quick grub.

_'Valentine, singer/dancer/guitarist, 31_

_Call me :) xxx-xxx-xxxx'_

~~~

Quackity glances at the bell as he enters a little coffee shop, listening to it ring until the door's closed behind him. He goes over to a window seat and sighs in content against the cushioned chair; those things are incredibly comfy, and he'll fight anyone who says otherwise.

He takes his phone out and holds the slip of paper between two fingers. Once he opens his contacts, he types the phone number of Valentine's into his phone, only pocketing both objects in his hoodie right afterwards.

_See ya soon, Valentine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave some kudos, some comments, maybe hit that pretty subscribe button too!  
> it's free, and you can always unsubscribe!
> 
> https://theselyricsdonotexist.com/ <\---- I used this for the lyrics the Mysterious Person in the fic sang :D
> 
> random quote of the day:  
> "so trust nobody" -quackity


	7. Oi, Asshole!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo often keeps to himself with a few close friends when it comes to being chatty.
> 
> A particular stranger seems to believe they're an exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Tubbo's POV!

Tubbo's the last person to willingly share his New Year's experience.

The call with old friends was too noisy and loud for his taste, and he's almost certain no one cared when he left the Discord channel earlier than everyone else. They easily got wrapped up in their own conversations, and he had nothing to say; so why bother staying at all?

He remembers getting spam notifications from the general chat, too.

_**"Discord 8s ago** _

_**#general** _

_**WILBUR: HAPPY YEAR OF THE NEW EVERYBODY except anteaters fuck those guys** _

_**dream: happy new years!** _

_**ERET: Happy New !!!** _

_**Niki: Happy new year everyone! <3** _

_**purpled: Going to give a kidney away for NYs - no telling where I'm getting it from** _

_**Punz:** **I'm sorry what?** _

_**Pama Puffy: Happy New Years!!! Love you all!** _

_**sapnap: Oh shit we're old now guys** _

_**Quackity:** _ _**everyone needs :]**_

_**Quackity: FUCK WAIT IT DIDN'T SENSDN** _

_**Quackity: I HAD A WHOLEASS PARAGRAPH READY WTF DICORD** _

_**karl: @Quackity @sapnap Dream SMP marriage pls** _

_**jSCHLATT: Hey fuckers did you know you can benefit shutting the fuck up by drinking Jack Daniel's for the new years** _

_**awesamdude: Can't wait to see where our future takes us. <3** _

_**tommyinnit: happy new years"**_

He hasn't touched Discord since then.

Telegram took up many months after he stopped using Discord; Eret, someone well-known in the modeling community in Britain (specifically those interested in reading pages of Attitude magazines), helped him set it up and everything. Tubbo used it to keep in contact with the model, who in turn updated him when their next photoshoot would be in case the young man wanted to show up as a surprise. He always turned them down though; he's much too busy with his projects to go surprise anyone.

Jack Manifold, a close friend of Tubbo's, introduced him to Snapchat. He's not entirely sure if he has the hang of it or not, seeing as his friend's _way_ better at navigating around the app than he is, but he is definitely trying to get used to it. That's when he dedicated his home time to message Eret on Telegram and his work time (away from home) to talk to Jack through Snapchat.

Speaking of work, he has two things going on.

One is his biggest project yet; Musical Spirits, a video game starring Chirpy, a young child destined to hold power over an entire nation, in which Tubbo's the developer for. He's not entirely sure how he came up with the idea, being a huge fan of _many_ game varieties of all genres, but he's grateful for that unknown inspiration getting him to this point. It's online for right now until finishing touches can be made; sorting out bugs and fixing dialogue or sprite issues.

Nick is one of his most trusted employees with all the texting they've done between them. This guy designs Musical Spirits and adds helpful input for where certain texts or characters should be placed for better playability and accessibility. He doesn't mind taking extra time to go back and check something for Tubbo, who reminds him to make sure he gets some rest and to take as long of a break as he may need. They give each other reasonable amounts of reassurance and comfortability, and Tubbo might consider him and the rest of the team as his own makeshift family.

"Tubs, can you take over my shift for me?"

Right. He's not at home, clicking away at his computer keys. He's in Mary's Coffee Shop.

The name refers to someone his boss, the bartender (or barman in Britain), knows personally. Tubbo's never asked since he doesn't really care. He shakes his head a little to hone back in on reality and looks at Jack Manifold, a barista just like him. They've been working together in this place with the rest of the gang for... maybe six years? Five? Time goes by so fast, he can't exactly remember how long it's been; just knows it's been a _long_ while.

Tubbo slides his phone out of his apron pocket, which is white with bees sewn to decorate wherever they can fit. He opens up his text-to-speech app, shortened to TTS, and types away his reply. "You have other plans besides work today, Jack?"

Jack waits as he's untying the laces from his back, letting out a brief chuckle when Tubbo plays his message. He nods enthusiastically. "Yep! I'm meeting with a very good friend, and we have our schedules full for the rest of the week to catch up on things."

"Have I met them?" Tubbo types into TTS, looking at Jack once he's hit the speak button. It's a young British boy's voice, but even so, it still sounds robotic. It'll have to do, though. He's not comfortable speaking verbally around people, and he'd rather not get into _why_ it bothers him so much.

"I'd say you have, actually," Jack insists, smiling wide at his co-worker. He reaches up to fix his black, transparent glasses; from what Tubbo remembers from him talking about it and a company called ZCCOM, the glasses help him view colors differently than what he's used to. "He works at Taco Bell that's-"

_More than twenty blocks down the coffee shop._ Tubbo thinks, closing his eyes in that brief second. When he opens them again, Jack's babbling about his filled schedule to a man they call Big Money, who's the bartender and owner of this shop. It's such a dumb name. He's complained about it coming off narcissistic and cocky _so_ many times, but the boss doesn't give a rat's ass.

Mr. Selfish, a name Tubbo prefers to call him in private messages to his fellow workers, is one of the most insufferable sons of bitches he's ever had the unfortunate pleasure of working for. Sometimes they bicker, the boss using a screechy megaphone that tears into everyone's eardrums while Tubbo's speedily typing on his phone in TTS. And sometimes they really get into fights where Tubbo's got himself in a headlock until he bobs his head up fast enough to fuck up the guy's jaw.

Fighting with his boss sort of helps release his frustration; his co-workers joke about being jealous over the fact they can't risk their reputations like that, and a majority of their customers stare at them wide-eyed with dropped jaws while many of those people think 'I'm reporting this to your manager!' means anything here.

_Ding!_

Tubbo's quick to check his phone, but it's not a text message from Nick or a Snapchat message from Jack. He pockets it for the time being when he walks up to the counter and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and rolling his shoulders back.

"Um, hey?"

Eyes open, staring back at a pair of blue ones.

"Welcome to Mary's Coffee Shop," Tubbo's TTS reads aloud from one of his pre-made prompts. Jack helped him make a list he can easily press, like 'yes' or 'no' if he doesn't shake his head or nod. It's proven helpful to have TTS on his side, seeing as he can grab anyone's attention by putting the volume as high as he needs it to be. For now, it's halfway, like a regular speaking volume. "My name is Tubbo, how can I help you?"

"Are you new here?"

_Not at all._

Tubbo wears a bright and chipper smile with his teeth showing, just as he's practiced and done _so many times_ before. It's become routine by this point. He shakes his head and presses his 'no' prompt in case the message isn't clear for this man. He's terrible at guessing ages, but this man seems somewhat young - maybe Tubbo's age, if he had to guess.

The man opens his mouth to say something, but he jumps at the _ding!_ ringing from the shop bell above the door; another sort of young man walks in and takes his seat by one of the windows. Tubbo sighs in relief when he watches one of his co-workers go over to take the man's over, glad he doesn't have to go and do it himself. He's just the guy who hands out what people order, _not_ some server who makes drinks or some waiter who takes orders.

He snaps his fingers a couple of times to bring the man's attention back to him, who sheepishly scratches the back of his neck with an awkward smile. All Tubbo wants right now is to go home, work on Musical Spirits for people to finally play, and _sleep_. Loads and loads of sleep.

"Order?" TTS says aloud, the volume only a few tabs higher so it holds the customer's attention. At least for however long this conversation's going to last; he hopes it's not for too long.

"Oh, right, sorry," the customer apologizes quickly, not once scanning any of the hanging menus behind Tubbo to see what he wants. Tubbo doesn't remember seeing him, but he might be one of Jack's regulars; he _did_ ask if he's new here, which he's not, so that's a possibility. "When I usually come here, Jack-"

_Called it._

"-preps my Espresso with.. like.. those weird doodles on them, with the frosting."

_He's not suggesting..._

The man's eyes lock with Tubbo's. "Can you make a frosting doodle for my Espresso?"

_That's such a small yet dumb request._

And then the man slams seven dollars on the counter and a handful of coins.

Tubbo raises his hands up in defense, not that he has to but he _feels_ like he should, and his phone's left idly on the counter right next to the money. "You can't just give me money, you know." His voice sounds unsteady, shaky even, which is why he relies on TTS almost entirely during work in the shop. He's been drinking water when he has breaks, but sometimes it slips his mind and his throat curses him for it. "If I make your foam, _not frosting by the way_ , art for your coffee, will you go sit down with your money _until_ I bring your drink to you?"

Usually customers pay upfront and wait for their orders; Tubbo doesn't give two shits right now, knowing fully well his boss isn't even at work (despite claiming to always be on-time and always around to protect his reputation as some high and mighty owner). He also knows he's practically left in charge, especially with Jack, the only other responsible worker, gone to who-knows-where with some friend.

The man stares back at him, gaping with a bit of a dazed expression. Honestly, he looks lost.

"Hello?" Tubbo tries, swiftly pocketing his phone after shutting it down. He reaches out and roughly shakes the customer's shoulder in hopes that it breaks him out of whatever weird daze he's scooped up in. "I need you to take your money and go sit so I can prep your order for you, sir."

"Oh," the customer says, blinking once. Then twice. Tubbo takes his hand off his shoulder now that he's focused. "Right, sorry. Thank you," he says, more of a mumble really, scooping his money into his hands and turning to find a table.

"What's your name?"

That _really_ grabs the man's attention. He whips around with wide eyes, like he's just gotten caught for some crime. "What?"

"Your name," Tubbo repeats, masking the dryness in his throat by coughing into his shoulder. He doesn't even have to be surrounded by his boss' smoke breath to cough; is this place even free from dust at all? _Does anyone even clean before they leave this place?_ "I need your name to sign the cup. Just so I don't hand it to the wrong person."

"Oh."

_Second 'oh' in the same hour. Tubbo's rather proud of himself for being able to render somebody speechless. He'll brag to Jack and Eret later._

"My name's Thomas, but I'd really rather you call me Tommy," the man says quickly, and somehow Tubbo understands fine. "..What's your name?"

_Was this guy not listening to his introduction a while ago? He was pretty upfront about his name._

After clearing his throat a third time, he places himself in front of the counter properly; and by properly, his slouching posture is obvious, but at least his apron's clean and even _on_ him. "Tubbo. Not my real name, but I don't give personal information like that to strangers."

He may not pay attention to people much, but there's something about this man that makes him feel relaxed. Like he doesn't want to knock this guy out. Not that he ever fights customers, God forbid, but this one may be the first customer to _not_ get on his nerves right away. Or for long, now that he things about it.

Tubbo doesn't question why Thomas' eyes have gone wide, or why he looks crestfallen. This guy must really want his damn Espresso.

"This is going to sound so stupid," Thomas begins to say, and Tubbo pretends to be intrigued. Well, okay, he is at least a bit curious, but he doesn't care either way. "I- Can- ... Damn it."

This conversation is definitely taking longer than Tubbo thought it would. He usually doesn't mind getting chatty, not using TTS, around close friends like popular model Eret or barista Jack Manifold, rarely with boss Mr. Selfish just to piss him off (and somehow still keep his job).

But this guy- Thomas? He brings a different playing field. He sure gets jittery and absolutely nervous from noises like the shop bell, which is just plain understandable to Tubbo, but somehow he makes the barista feel comfortable and relaxed. Like he's a friend Tubbo can talk to without his slightly delayed, hesitant way of talking being brought up.

He's not too sure on whether he can trust this man yet, them being strangers and all, but he doesn't believe Thomas is the type of person to hurt someone.

Well, if he's held back from coffee and goes insane, then _maybe_ he could hurt someone. But for right now, Tubbo feels okay enough to keep this verbal conversation going. No need for TTS right now, nor other co-workers to take his position. He can handle it.

"Go take your seat, okay? I'll bring you your Espresso with foam art, I'll stay and talk to you, you give me money, and you can come again another time so we can repeat the process." Pause. "..Preferably without you getting all jumpy, if that's okay with you."

Thomas nods speedily, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly. "Yeah, yeah. That'd be great, actually. Thank you."

It's Tubbo's turn to nod, but slower and calmer. "You are welcome, Thomas."

"Thank you," Thomas says again and turns to go sit by an available window, only glancing back to smile, still nervous yet friendly, at the barista.

Tubbo smiles back.

~~~

Tubbo's smile is gone.

"Look, I know this sounds weird out of nowhere, but-"

"You're asking for a lot."

He's sitting across from the customer in a window booth, shooting a nasty glare at his first attempt at making coffee art; Thomas insisted the one-winged foam, supposed to be a bee, looks awesome and took a picture to 'show it off to friends'. What a lie that sounds like.

"I'm not asking for anything huge like your keys or anything," Thomas says, trying to defend himself. "I just want you to look me in the eyes and, honestly, tell me if you remember me."

_Because THAT'S not stressful or concerning at all. Thanks, Thomas!_

Tubbo shakes his head. "You're crazy, Thomas."

"Tommy."

"No," he replies. "You're just Thomas to me. I'm not whoever you think I am, and I don't know-"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't remember!" Thomas half-yells, but his wide-eyed glances at staring customers makes it apparent that he knows not to do that again. He leans over the table, his Espresso to the side and out of the way, and he tries to look the barista in the eyes. "Please, Tubbo. Tell me you really don't know who I am."

_Gladly._

When he leans over the table as well, his eyes are narrowed into a glare right back at Thomas' sad eyes. He's not going to feel sympathy, or pity for that matter, for some stranger claiming to know who he, a random barista in Britain, is. That's just plain creepy.

"I don't know who you are, Thomas. And I suggest you leave this shop when you're done."

If he hears the man whine hoarsely when Tubbo gets up and returns behind the counter, neither of them mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave some kudos, some comments, maybe hit that pretty subscribe button too!  
> it's free, and you can always unsubscribe!
> 
> random quote of the day:  
> "we said our goodbyes already at the start" -tubbo


	8. Oh, For Fuck's Sake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George keeps a lot of things to himself.
> 
> Except his hands, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is George's POV!
> 
> WARNING (READ BEFORE CARRYING ON):  
> *This chapter includes HOMOPHOBIA, BRIEF(?) SEXUAL JOKES, & SOMEWHAT GRAPHIC VIOLENCE  
> *If ANY of this upsets you in any way, PLEASE be careful when reading this further !!
> 
> I believe this may be the longest chapter I've written for this story so far (115 paragraphs here), so I do apologize if it's waaay longer than expected :D !!

A New Year's celebration is nothing more than playing obnoxiously loud music to piss off the neighbors, shooting fireworks (not in London though) off into the sky, and playing Minecraft with friends and family.

George kept to the same "tradition" each year to celebrate; everyone from a server he once played would get together in one voice call and do the count down together. It was a problem with differing time zones, but they got everyone to stay up together and, already syncing his schedule to follow a friend's from America, George didn't have too much of an issue with it.

In 2023, he and two old friends went in Teamspeak together and kept each other up, dubbing it their first "sleepover voice call". It'd be after they say goodbye and happy new years to everyone in Discord, including their personal or merch servers to the fans and staff. Although George's the only one between the three of them who lived in an entirely other country, as far as he remembers, he had a fairly steady sleep schedule and took long, much-needed hours to sleep during the day.

In contrast to that, his friends' sleep schedules consisted of bugging the shit out of each other.

They had many, many sleepovers over Teamspeak as the years passed.

Sometimes the youngest of the three would drag them out of TS and into a FaceTime call, showing off his merch from their "faceless" friend and bragging about how awesome his pets, three cats and a dog, have it in Texas. Then their Floridian friend would show off how _fancy_ his fountain water drinking cat lives in their state. George, who gave in to what he claimed to be peer pressure from both of them, would then be the last to show off his kitten and dog, often getting his lap occupied by the friendly dog and his arms busy cradling the soft, small kitten.

He let the two idiots name his pets, after being unable to decide from many comments on Instagram about what their names could be.

_Leo the kitten and Coco the dog._

"Bye, Leo! Take care of Coco, thanks!" George calls, sparing a glance at the dog resting on his couch and the kitten curled up against her stomach. He smiles wide before closing and locking the door, sighing contently. He takes a deep breath and collects his thoughts. 2030 marks another year of living away from family, who decided it's best for them to stay in Britain.

He shoves his keys in his pocket and takes a generous look at where he's staying. It's an apartment building; he's saddled down into living with two roommates, but he doesn't seem them so often. He gets along fine with them, so that's a plus, and they respect his privacy just as he respects theirs. But it'd be nice to have at least _one_ full conversation about, like, how their days went _at least_.

The most he knows about them is they're obnoxiously loud, and while that doesn't piss him off, the cameras with constantly active red dots gets to him. They're _always_ recording something, and they don't bother telling him when they'll start or if they plan on finishing. It'll be a nice morning where he's eating cereal with chunky milk (didn't know it was expired _until_ one of them laughed about it, thankfully he hadn't added the milk yet), and suddenly, out of nowhere, these two morons will come in _screaming_ at the top of their lungs about some new video game.

He doesn't resent either of them for it. George just wishes they'd _talk_ to him outside of 'Hi!' and 'Bye!'. Even a stupid grin his way, or a giggle acknowledging his clumsiness would be enough.

"Georgie!"

_Speak of the angel._

"Hey," George greets, rubbing his eye and trying to blink himself awake. While his schedule's not in dogshit, it's still not 100% the best. The man can sleep through his own wake up alarms and, phone calls on silent (aside from one contact he's labeled as three green hearts on either side of a sleeping emoji), hasn't been able to fix that yet. He's tried going to sleep earlier, but something keeps him awake anyway.

Maybe watching silly cat videos going trending isn't the best way to go about trying to sleep. But hey, who can resist a little shit of fluff purring and rolling around on-camera, huh? Not George, no siree.

"Brought you these, by the way."

He blinks back into focus and looks down at his friend's hands. Said friend, who everyone just calls V, has helped George ever since he stepped foot into his new apartment in Florida. And, to top it all off, he's also working at the same coffee shop as he is and is now holding out the British man's black Enchroma glasses. They have red lens on them, and they help him differentiate colors a little better. Shades still look wobbly in his eyes, with or without them, but he'd still say they're improving his learning and relearning.

George swallows down an itching cough threatening to sprout from his throat, taking the glasses and fixing them over his eyes. "Thank you, V." That's all he has to say for V to turn and start walking, and he follows as he looks around with the glasses. He wears them more often outside than inside, unless he's doing something color coded online, but he usually relies on messaging a co-worker and sending them what he needs so he can finish quickly.

And now V's making a wrong turn down a road George doesn't recognize.

"Hold on," George says, loud enough for the younger brunette to stop and turn to him. George stops as well and crosses his arms, even though he knows fully well that V doesn't give a singular fuck about his 'intimidation technique'. "Why are you going that way? The shop's down the block, not some creepy neighborhood you're going to get us both killed in."

It's V's turn to cross his arms, accompanied by rolling his eyes and scoffing in disbelief.

"My husband works in that neighborhood, you dingleberry." George's about to comment on the nickname before V continues, so he shuts his mouth. "So we're gonna go drop by, and maybe I won't make out with him in front of you this time, and _then_ we'll go to work. How's that sound?"

That's a pretty easy question to answer. "If you climb over the counter again, then I'm leaving without you."

"I-" V bites his bottom lip in a full-on pout. Sadly for him, he hasn't mastered the puppy eyes, but it does convince George to start walking across the street (after looking both ways, of course) to the other neighborhood. V glances both ways before running after him and slaps his back happily, smiling at him. "I'm happy you trust me!"

"I never said I trust you."

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today." V clears his throat, and George already expects the worst. It's a stupid, silly little voice he uses to cheer George up, and somehow it works every damn time. He loves and hates it, but he won't admit that to the bastard. "Where's the toothy, shit-eating smile on my good friend Georgie? Where's it gone?"

George groans tiredly, covering his face in his hands and shaking his head. He closes his eyes in hopes this is all just a really weird dream. But, eyes open, V's still talking in that godawful tone of his and is very much still trying to annoy the shit out of him. Or trying to make him smile, but honestly, George can't tell.

"My roommates kept making noise-"

"Ooh, they performed a little dancey dance on each other?"

_This isn't where he thought this conversation would go._

"I really hope not, and I really don't think so," he replies, having to actually give it some thought at first. He shakes those thoughts away for the moment. "They're friends, I'm pretty sure."

V shoots him a look of disbelief and sways from side to side while he walks. He isn't drunk, or at least George doesn't want to believe he is, so it's just something he _does_. "My sweet baby and I started off as friends in a game, became boyfriends, came out about it, _and_ got married some time later. Anything can happen to a friendship, good or bad, my friend."

_This is also not where he thought this would go, but it's honestly better than his co-worker talking about his roommates getting creative in unfriendly ways to each other._

"I can't believe you act all innocent at work, but then you spill all your true colors to _me_ of all people."

"You made.." V pauses to think his words through, chewing the inside of his cheek. He looks over at George, who's now looking ahead at the sidewalk and shooting glances at his friend, and bats his eyes at him. "..very, very inappropriate jokes two weeks ago, so how am _I_ worse?"

George holds up a finger, ready to defend himself. "In my defense, they shouldn't have said my eyes look like shit if they didn't want me to say their hair's shit."

"But their hair _wasn't_ shit."

_And you, V, are shit. Sometimes._

"When someone talks shit about me, I'm undoubtedly going to either say they are shit right back or I'll splash hot coffee at them. I win either way."

V laughs at that and nods in eager agreement, his eyes squinted in amusement. It's short, brief, and over with in a couple of seconds. Not exactly the type of quiet George would settle for, but he doesn't mind it. That, and he can't really do anything about the way a person laughs. "Good point, I think. You can also, just throwing this out there, mess up their order entirely like I've done."

George pauses to blink a few times, surprised. Well, sort of. "You've done that before? How's our boss not noticing that?"

"Because they're a dumbass."

He raises an eyebrow at V, insisting he explains further. Or, you know, at all. "A dumbass? You sure you want our boss finding out you're calling them that while we aren't even there?"

"I call them a dumbass to their face all the time and they're okay with it. We're practically friends." V answers, waving his hands dismissively as he speeds up the pace ever-so slightly. George sticks close by his side and fixes his glasses with some caution, careful not to just knock them off. "Did you ever call your green lover, by the way?"

George flicks the back of his friend's head and listens to the laugh he gets in return, huffing quietly. "No. And they aren't my 'lover', V. They're a random contact in my phone. I don't even have any notes on them or anything, which is just as bad as not remembering I even put their contact in."

"Maybe you were drunk and it's some hot person you met in a bar!" V suggests, clasping his hands together like he's figured it all out. He may be clever, and he's certainly a lot smarter than one might assume, but he hasn't figured it out. George would know if it's some drunken mistake, or something along those lines. And besides, he's careful enough when drunk not to get in relationships, romantic or otherwise. It's a lot of responsibilities rolled into one, and he isn't up for that commitment.

If he can't remember this contact that might be someone he was close to some years ago, then how can he trust himself to remember the name of a lover made while drunk? His memory's no better when he's tired, either, or so he's been told. Other people (namely his roommates and his co-worker V) have experienced Tired George, but he doesn't get to know too much about what he's said or done while in that state. His roommates have dismissed it as tired mumbles, and V has said he just sings himself while mumbling in his sleep.

_Actually..._

"Actually, now that we're getting into this-"

"YOU MADE A BAR LOVER! I FUCKING KNEW IT!" V shouts at the top of his lungs, immediately deciding no one is deserving of their eardrums anymore. George is thankful he covered his ears halfway through his friend's words, only uncovering them when V stops to shake his shoulders, which just makes him feel kind of lightheaded. "Are they hot? Cute? Attractive in any or all ways? I'm your closest friend, Georgie, so you better have been telling me this first before anyone else."

V's a talkative son of a bastard; both a blessing and a curse. He knows how to push people's buttons, especially George's, but he also knows where the boundaries lie. Even though he likes to test the waters and step into the dangerous lines of what he can and what he shouldn't do.

"Okay _no_ , I made no.. bar lovers, or whatever you call them," George huffs out, only a bit annoyed by this point. He's surprised he hasn't started running, knowing well enough that he's a lot faster than his friend. "I wanted to ask, um, about me singing when I'm exhausted."

It's not a harsh subject at all to touch upon. George knows he does and says things when he's asleep or zoned out, whether he remembers them or not doesn't bother him too much since he feels he can trust V, but he never really _asks_ about it. It's more of a 'hey you remember this? no? well shit, forget I never said anything' type deal. V doesn't _lie_ to him, or least he hopes not, but he tends to leave out certain things in conversations if he feels they're unimportant or just not worth mentioning.

Like the fact someone left a pile of shit in front of George's apartment and V returned the bag of shit right against the front step of the shitter. George still doesn't even know _who_ the person was, or if they're even still around in the neighborhood (or elsewhere), since V says he's taken care of it and that it's not that big of a deal.

"Um..." V chews his bottom lip, looking at a ladybug failing to get up off a leaf that's landed on it. He's careful not to squish it, opposed to what George would've done (on accident, of course, unless he gains a vendetta against ladybugs or leaves). Clicking his tongue and nodding, he finally gives an answer. As much of one that George feels is acceptable. "Roadtrip. It's called that, and I _think_ Twitter trended it at some point? I don't remember."

"Roadtrip?" George repeats, more questioning the title as if he heard wrong. But he knows he hasn't. His hearing's not at a loss, no matter how loud his friend can get. "Is it just all instrumentals with a tune, or is it an actual song?"

He's never been the best at reading people's faces, or guessing how they're feeling. He knows he's shit at tuning in to how others feel and expressing his own feelings, usually burying them deep in his chest until they're dead. So when V sends a disheartened glance his way, George doesn't know how to take it. Just like he does whenever he's confused, he only smiles back, not too cheery and not too upset. It's a healthy middle, neutral and easy to use for certain, unknowing situations.

"It's a real song, George."

_No more 'Georgie'. V's becoming serious now._

V continues. "PmBata and Dream participated in making it. I don't remember the full story, so just Google that on your own, but it's pretty much about... something about this guy's life, and-"

"Can you sing a lyric or two for me?" George blurts out, interrupting whatever train of thought tried chugging through V's head. "I want to know if I recognize it. I don't listen to a lot of music, never did in the past either, so maybe I'll know what it is if I've heard it before."

"Are you _sure_ you want me to sing some of it?" V asks quickly, and his pace has slowed down enough for George to catch up. Not that he _has_ to, but long legs against short legs is a tough battle that he intends on winning. "I mean, I'm amazing at karaoke with my husband and our friends, but-"

"Just _sing_."

"Okay, okay!" V replies with a light laugh, bubbled in nerves swimming in his eyes. From the years they've spent together, which is roughly a long time, George can't recall a time he's ever seen V get nervous over something. Even during his wedding, he held full-on confidence as he nearly screwed up his own vows, got his husband's suit wet in wine, and ruined _his_ own suit in so much cake.

On the flip side, the cake was fucking amazing.

V clears his throat, coughs into his elbow, and starts to sing as roughly as his voice goes.

_"People change like the tides of the ocean..."_

~~

They enter Gamestop, a little store inside the mall that's not overflooded with customers as much as it used to be. George doesn't regularly go in, only really following friends who _insist_ he come to watch them buy some new video game or play on the demo setup to the right of the entrance. V's done singing, and it's been silent between them since he stopped right before they made it to the mall.

V's whole face lights up when he spots a certain light-haired man dismissing a customer after giving them a gaming console. He smooths his hair back, as if that really does anything to calm his poking strands of hair, and casually runs and jumps over the counter. He nearly knocks over a child in the process, but a parent moves them aside anyway, and he doesn't notice. Wrapping his arms around his husband, he yanks him into a tight hug. "Cutie!"

"Velvet!" Anthony, V's husband, holds the other man's body closer to his. It makes George shift the weight of one foot to the other, awkwardly glancing around as the two sink in each other's arms. He only looks back to them when they've pulled away, their hands on each other's shoulders instead. "What are you doing here? I thought you had work today."

"I convinced Georgie here to come see my sweet Ant," V hums sweetly, pressing light kisses to his lover's cheek. It becomes many peppered kisses; to Anthony's cheeks, the tip of his nose, the edges of his ears, his forehead, and finally to his slightly parted lips. Both of them are shining in each other's eyes, looking warmer than summer air. "I missed you, my Charming Anthony."

Anthony looks a little dazed, wearing a stupid smile and he laughs softly from the nickname. His cheeks seem as warm as his husband's are, and he cups V's cheeks in the palms of his hands, pressing little kisses all over the bridge of the slightly taller man's nose. "And I missed you, honey."

"HEY!"

George reluctantly moves out of the way of a shorter woman with blonde hair, tied in a ponytail, who looks like she's been waiting forever when she has _just_ arrived. George might not pay attention to certain things, but he's not an idiot.

"This is a family-friendly and KID-FRIENDLY establishment."

_Anthony, a man who swears gently from time to time, is a worker here who's married to V, who swears and makes as many sexual jokes as possible. Yet somehow they're both allowed into this 'family-friendly, kid-friendly' establishment. What next, lady?_

V wraps his arms loosely around his husband's neck. He lightly presses his body against Anthony's, moving so that he's facing the woman instead, narrowing his eyes at her ever-so carefully. "I'm just greeting my husband, Miss. You are more than free to go somewhere else to buy what you want, or you can go to our _very_ available cashier right beside us."

And that available cashier, or employee of some kind, wears the name tag 'Grayson' on a purplish grey uniform. He smiles at the woman, a little out of awkwardness, and kindly waves at her before another customer comes up and hands him the game they're wanting to buy. He engages in a light chat with them, something about 'getting to the end' of something, seeing as George isn't necessarily paying attention.

"He's not available!" the woman complains. She shakes her head wildly, her ponytail whipping around like a horse's tail (huh, ironic) until she strides right up to the counter and hits her fist on the table. "Where's your manager? I don't want my kids seeing this _horrendous_ act and think it's okay."

V chokes on a laugh at the woman's comments, but his eyes are nothing but kind or sweet. They're narrowed, warning her of the territory she's threatening to crush with her obnoxious, annoying tone. "Horrendous, huh? What's _horrendous_ about two people kissing?" he asks, but it's not over. "Or is it because we're both men?"

Anthony lightly tugs the back of his husband's shirt in an attempt to get his attention. All it does is make V lean against him more, resting his chin in his lover's hair and resisting from just messing it all up. "Honey, it's not worth it."

"Where are your kids, ma'am?" George suddenly asks. That's not all he's taken out of this conversation that's stirring, but he doesn't want to do anything someone might regret.

The woman turns to shoot a nasty look at the British man, squinting her eyes as she looks him up and down. "What are you, an idiot?"

_This lady's not helping her case. Then again, her case is pretty much bullshit._

"I'm just asking where your kids are. What's that have to do with me being smart or not?"

"You're wearing the stupid glasses my child Aleyna wears."

_Poor child has to deal with this monster of a person. They deserve better._

"These are Enchroma colorblind glasses, ma'am," George responds calmly, glancing at the pair who are lost in each other's touch. Then he looks back to the woman, who crosses her arms and sticks up her nose like she owns the place. Which he's sure she doesn't. "These help people with colorblindness of different types by letting us view our surroundings differently than we normally would. For some of us, it's very helpful, and other people don't feel like it helps them. Your child's IQ has zero to do with their colorblindness and these glasses."

"Yours is just as much of a scam as any other idiot's inch-room-a glasses are."

George is about to calmly, _calmly_ correct her before she decides it's one hell of a good idea to take his Enchroma glasses. He blinks to register what's happened, then he glares at her and reaches for it back. "Those are mine, ma'am." The woman puts them on the counter and stands in front of it, using her body to block it from his vision and making it very much out-of-reach. "Ma'am, move."

"My little Aleyna isn't getting the same infection you clearly have, you got that?" The woman claps three times as if to prove a point, but it's mostly adding more to the frustration boiling in George's mind. He knows better than to say what's on his mind if it can get him in trouble, and he doesn't want to make the employees hate him (this includes V, who's literally married to one of them).

So, taking in a calm, deep breath after closing his eyes, George raises his right arm and swings a balled fist across the woman's face. Or what he _hopes to God_ is her face.

~~

Next thing George knows, his fist feels a lot rougher than it had moments ago. Making someone's nose flush an unsteady stream of blood is probably not something he should add to his set of skills. Fighting physically, sure, but not giving someone a temporary nosebleed that knocked them out. On the plus side, he's wearing his glasses again, and Grayson escorted the woman out while George sat with his back against the counter, listening to V and Anthony talk behind him.

"That was amazing!" Anthony says appreciatively, surprised but thankful. Both he and V refrained from interfering with the previous fight, mostly because getting in a fight with a customer isn't on Anthony's to-do list whatsoever, and they encouraged their British friend immensely.

"Should've put her in a chokehold," V adds on, getting a side glance from his husband. He chuckles and holds Anthony closer, chin tucked over his shoulder. "Not to, you know, hurt her or anything. Just to teach her a lesson about messing with any of us."

"Just be careful when you move your wrist, okay?" Grayson advises helpfully. He's handing George a fresh bottle of water (after said man had two of those a little while ago after the woman was taken out) and gently presses a bandaid to cover the rough patch of skin on George's knuckles. "There you go. Be careful if you run water over it, don't make it hot or cold by the way, and drink some water, too."

George nods and thanks the man under his breath, relieved he heard him so he doesn't have to speak louder. He's surprised he nearly made it out of the fight better than the customer did; she got a bloody nose and lost two or three teeth with bleeding gums, and he got roughed up knuckles and a pretty dry throat. So honestly, George is doing just fine, and he doesn't regret anything one bit.

"Hey, mind if we sit with you?" A man asks him, sweeping blonde hair out of his eyes. He's standing next to another man, much shorter than he is, who has dark hair that's all messy, and both of them are wearing hoodies with smiley faces on them. A bit creepy, but George isn't the type to judge.

"Go ahead," comes out a hoarse reply, leading to several coughs into George's elbow. He barely pays attention when the two men sit in front of him and watch him as he takes a large gulp (or two) of water, tensing from how cold it is yet relieved that it feels good against whatever's blocking his throat from being comfortable. When he's done, he sits the bottle on his knee, knowing fully well it's seeping into his pants, and he looks at the strangers with a squint. "..Why are you staring at me all weird?"

"What's your name?" is the blonde man's answer. He has several freckles, George notices, and they seem to make patterns down to his shoulders and possibly further down. He also has light stubble on his chin, looking a little like scribbles of straw. "I'm- I'm Clay, and this is my friend, Pandas."

The other guy, smiling shyly, is Pandas. His beard, though thin and darker than Clay's, nearly touches the bottom of his ears. That alone makes him look a lot older than his face, mature yet soft in a way, expresses.

"George," he replies. Then he pauses. "..Wait. V, we need to get to work."

V holds a hand up and plants two affectionate kisses to Anthony's lips. He put his hand down when he pulls away, gently squeezing his lover's hand in his own before total departure. "You've got a point there, Georgie. Should your new friends come with us?"

"New what?"

Nick waves the case for a video game 'The Reckless' in his hand before handing it to Clay, who seems to fixate on messing with the plastic covering. "My roommate's probably busy at home, so he can wait for his game while we go and eat. And Clay's planning on entirely ditching his sister here, so-"

Clay's eyes snap into a light-hearted glare at the other man, moving to stand up and watching Pandas and George do the same. "I'm _not_ ditching Drista. She takes a long time since she likes meeting new people, and I can just text her to come pick me up if I have to. Or I can walk home."

"Your sister's name sounds weird," George blurts out. It doesn't register that he wasn't just thinking it to himself when both men looked at him strangely. "In a good way! I swear, that wasn't meant to be mean." 

"She keeps her real name to family and close friends," Clay slowly explains. He's no longer toying with the plastic, and he's instead trying to fit the game case into his hoodie pockets. It takes a _lot_ of slight stretching and tugging before he's content with his hands _and_ the game in there. He's a strange guy, that's for sure. "So she uses Drista as her social or online name to not-so-close people. It's, uh, kinda an inside joke between old friends of mine, anyway."

That.. sounds like it makes sense. George nods anyway, not pressing the subject.

"Ant baby, I'll be back as soon as my shift's up, okay?" V wraps the other man in another hug, receiving peppered kisses to his flushed cheeks. His husband laughs warmly, even after they pull away again. And once V has hopped over the counter, he's already leaving GameStop with three men trailing behind. "So Nick and Clay, what are your tips on helping a British person relax?"

George takes another drink of water while he walks, giving one last wave and closed smile to Anthony, who waves back at him before going back to helping customers. With Nick and Clay on either side of him, he figures it's best to watch the back of V's head, only sparing sneaky glances to either man.

"As someone who's born and raised in Florida," Clay begins, putting on some kind of accent. "I say alligator-riding is the most relaxing thing to do here. We also have Disney World, with all the terrifyingly exciting rides and people, so that can also be pretty relaxing."

"As a Texan whose friend is way too dramatic about his state," Nick throws in, sending a challenging look to the blonde man before looking at V's head, just as George is. "Alligator-riding is scary, but Disney World's better."

Clay shakes his head and responds quickly, losing whatever accent he was trying to go for. "How is riding an alligator scary? You just have to shut its mouth, get on, and don't fall off! It's _literally_ just like riding a bull in Texas."

"That is _not_ like riding a bull, dude," Pandas replies, snorting. "Hey George, certified British man, which state would you say is better just by hearing about them? Florida or Texas?"

George instinctively looks to V for any moral support, but that man's shooting finger guns at people they pass by and waving to people who just glance at him. So it comes down to his own thoughts, which isn't too hard now that he thinks about it some more.

"I much prefer England, actually. We have the Harry Potter Studio Tour, showing off how cool our country is for having a majority of Harry Potter movies filmed there. And instead of riding alligators or I guess bulls, we can ride on flying broomsticks. Just like real witches and wizards."

"Holy fuck," he hears them mutter in unison, and it makes him feel more confident. Until he hears a wheeze from Clay and giggles from Pandas.

"I knew you're a nerd!" Clay wheezes, holding his sides and grinning. He's a little shit, that's what he is.

"I never thought I'd meet a British Harry Potter fan, but here we are. _And_ he's a nerd about it," comes from Pandas in the form of staggering giggling. He's also a little shit.

So George turns to the only person to not make fun, sending a pleading look to the back of V's head, like he's sending a telepathic signal. "V..." he whines.

"You snatched their wigs, Georgie. They're your problem, too, so I'm not getting into this whole mess."

_Oh, for fuck's sake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave some kudos, some comments, maybe hit that pretty subscribe button too!  
> it's free, and you can always unsubscribe!
> 
> random quote of the day:  
> "tell me you hate me" -george


End file.
